


Under These Rocks and Stones

by Marena



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Deafblindness, M/M, disability rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marena/pseuds/Marena
Summary: Bucky is finally getting his life together after losing his arm. He bought a town house and is going to college. Things are moving in the right direction in his life, but he still hasn't defeated all of his demons just yet. Maybe he could use a little back up in that fight. Steve Rogers has been mostly deafblind since birth. His life is exactly what it should be: living independently in a home he owns, working at a job he loves, and surrounding himself with friends who love and accept him. But something's missing... Just maybe that something is SOMEONE.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a labor of love for me. While I am not deafblind, I am DA myself and am active in campaigning for DA rights. This story came about after a very long conversation with a professor of mine a while back. I wanted to showcase a person living with a severe disability as competent and confident, and who better to use as a vehicle for this than Steve Rogers--the man who never backs down from a fight? I hope you enjoy this story. If anyone has any crit for me with this story, please don't hesitate to let me know--I have thick skin and am looking to improve my craft. Updates will be semi-regular

 

Bucky felt like the king of the box kingdom. Standing in the foyer of his new town home, he stared down the line of boxes and totes that towered nearly as high as his head and let out a heavy sigh. His friends had come en-mass earlier in the day to tackle the furniture and bigger stuff that would have been impossible for him to handle on his own, but by early evening everyone was tired, and he’d assured them all that he’d be able to take care of the boxes solo. In hindsight, he may have been a bit too optimistic. He already was picturing himself pulling the stack over on himself.

Rather than calling for a pizza and continuing to work as he’d planned, Bucky decided that he needed a break—both mentally and physically from the move. He thought he remembered passing a bar and grille nearby. What a better time to explore his new town than the present? And to be honest, if he didn’t do it when he was feeling somewhat adventurous, he probably would hole himself up for a few days before his classes started.

On his way, Bucky noticed one of his new neighbors sitting out of their front porch. At first, he gave into his natural instinct to quickly turn his head and keep walking, but what was the point of being adventurous if he didn’t extend that spirit to actually meeting people? He’d told his therapist that he was looking forward to starting a new life, and that life was going to involve meeting people sooner or later. Glancing up, he realized that the indistinct form he’d caught out of the corner of his eye was actually a man—a good looking one at that. He was blonde haired and well-built. A long time ago, Bucky would have approached the stranger with a swagger and smile, but now he was lucky to get his feet to move at all.

“Hi!” he called out. He felt even more aware of the emptiness of his left sleeve as he waved. Much to his chagrin, the man didn’t seem inclined to so much as acknowledge Bucky’s existence, so he tried again. “Hi. I’m your new neighbor.”

Again, the man completely ignored him. Taken aback, Bucky stumbled back down the sidewalk to where he’d parked. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys as he cussed under his breath. So much for being neighborly. The guy was either a complete dick or was uncomfortable talking to someone with a disability—which still made him a complete dick in Bucky’s mind. He made a mental note to not drag his feet too much on clearing out the garage. The more he could ignore the asshole next door the better.

For once, it seemed that fate aligned with one of Bucky’s wishes. He didn’t see his neighbor again for over two weeks. Though, it would be more fitting to say Bucky didn’t see much of anyone those first two weeks.

Despite his sister Becky’s pleas to accept his help getting the rest of his house in order, Bucky was pretty determined to do it on his own. He’d lived in a sort of half-way housing for the last six months—what the military called a “warrior transition unit”—so living on his own wasn’t completely foreign to him. Solitude was actually something he’d been looking forward too. In Walter Reed, there had been a constant train of visitors, doctors, nurses, therapists, and prostheses specialists surrounding him. The WTU had been a toned down version of the same, and to top it off, he’d shared his apartment with another soldier. The fact that he could sit on his couch and eat a slice of pizza in silence without anyone hovering was a relief. He found the isolation almost addictive.

If it wasn’t for his classes at the local community college, Bucky probably wouldn’t have left his house at all. Signing up for school had been a huge step for him. In a way, it had even been bigger than buying the house. Bucky had always been independent. Some fuckwad with an IED wasn’t going to change that fact. But Bucky had never been much for school, and said same fuckwad hadn’t changed that fact either. In high school, Bucky had scraped by with C’s and the occasional B or D to break up the pattern down his report card. College had never been in the cards for him—or so he thought. He’d planned to spend his whole life in the army, but Uncle Sam didn’t have a hell of a lot of use for a one-armed sniper with lingering effects from a traumatic brain injury. So here he was: college bound at twenty-eight.

Thankfully, arm aside, Bucky didn’t seem to stand out too much in the crowd of his peers. Most of the faces he saw around him were lined a few wrinkles and framed with a few grays. Thirty-something to middle-aged students probably out numbered the fresh faced kids two-to-one. Neither the older nor the younger classmates seemed to want much to do with each other let alone Bucky. A few of the kids seemed to pal around a bit in the union, but other than that, everyone just passed by each other as they focused on their work.

The second blessing Bucky got of school was that it wasn’t nearly as hard as he remembered it being. He could remember vividly staring at his geometry book his senior year in absolute terror while the rest of his classmates were breezing through calculus or trigonometry. His worst fear about college was that it would pick up right from where he left off, but he’d been placed in courses that actually backtracked on some of the things that he vaguely remembered and was almost comfortable with. Handing in his first homework sheet to his math teacher had been a bit harrowing. Getting it back with only one mistake marked a hell of a confidence boost. Even his most hated subject—English—was somehow manageable at the moment. Logically, he knew that things would get harder, but just being able to keep his head above water was something more than he’d expected.

Around the end of his second week, Bucky got an assignment for his economics class that required work in pairs. Unlike in high school, there was no real shuffle of people trying to pair off in friendly pairs. The older students—who had mostly taken up the seating in the front of the class—merely looked across the aisles and instantly assumed that person would be their partner. Bucky was seated next to a wiry man with gray hair and rough looking hands. The man had given him a questioning look which Bucky answered with a nod. With handshake and a quick introduction—the other man’s name was Al—they agreed to meet in the library the next night.

Bucky arrived at the library earlier than Al. He’d only ever been in his high school’s library more than a decade ago. The stale smell of paper invaded his nostrils as he shuffled through the rows looking for nothing much in particular. He wandered from fiction to non-fiction and back again before noticing a small classroom tucked in the back wall. The door was open, and he could hear a male voice speaking a bit louder than was probably necessary. As he passed by, he caught sight of the teacher and sucked in his breath when he realized it was neighbor. Bucky frowned and was about to turn on his heel when he almost ran smack face first into Al.

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” Al said sheepishly. “I got one of the rooms on the other side reserved.”

“Great,” Bucky muttered. He hooked his chin over his shoulder towards the classroom behind them. “Know what they teach in there?”

Al shrugged. “I saw signs up about it this week. I think it’s some sort of three session seminar on disability—not really sure what exactly, though. Remember hearing about the guy teaching it from a friend of mine who works in the library. Guess he’s deaf and blind. Can you imagine that?”

Shaking his head, Bucky tried to keep his astonishment off his face. No wonder the guy hadn’t reacted when Bucky had said “hello.” Though there was no way he could have known about it, he kind of felt like an asshole for having instantly hated his neighbor. Instead of dwelling on his embarrassment, Bucky turned his attention to the project.

As luck would have it, Bucky ended up seeing his neighbor again the next morning. A strong wind had blown Bucky’s garbage can a good ways down the street. He was putting it back in place when he saw his neighbor out collecting his. He’d found the can itself using his cane, but the lid had been pushed the whole way out into the middle of the road. Bucky watched for a moment as the blond searched for it in the yard using his cane. Instantly, he knew there was a dilemma in front of him; if the guy couldn’t hear Bucky offering help, was it okay to just grab the lid for him anyway? His own struggles had taught him that giving help without being asked wasn’t always the best course of action, but he didn’t know what else to do. Without much more thought, he picked up the lid and walked it over. He stood next to the deafblind man for a long moment holding it like an asshole before brushing it against the guy’s arm.

The man jumped a bit before taking it and turning his face toward Bucky. “Thanks,” he said, in a voice that was harsh and a bit nasal but completely understandable. “Are you my new neighbor?”

“Yeah. I am,” Bucky confirmed. He spoke a bit louder than usual, still not sure how the hell this was going to work out.

“I’m not completely deaf,” the other man said with a smile. He turned his head and tapped the side of his head where it looked like an electrode was sticking out of his head. “I can hear some on my left side, but I’d appreciate it if you spoke up a bit more. My name’s Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky felt like he was screaming, but if it helped Steve hear him...oh well.

“Thanks for the help, Bucky, but next time, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know you’re there,” Steve said graciously.

“Sorry about that.” Heat flooded Bucky’s face. Yep, he felt like an asshole. “I didn’t think you could hear me at all, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Steve laughed a little. “Yell real loud. I’m not completely blind either, but I can’t see much of anything other than a bit of light. You’re not quite big enough to block out the sun.”

“Have you lived here long?” Bucky asked. He should just say “goodbye” and let Steve go about his business, but there was something about Steve’s smile that made Bucky’s stomach quiver just a bit. It had been a damn long time since that had happened.

“Five years. It’s a good neighborhood.”

“Seems like it.”

“Want a cup of coffee?” Steve asked. “I wouldn’t mind chatting for a while, and I’ve got a device that makes things a bit easier for me...if you have a minute, that is.”

“I do.”

That beautiful smile blossomed even further across Steve’s face. “Great. Have your phone on you by any chance?”

“I do.” Bucky was a bit perplexed by the question, but figured Steve would explain soon enough. He’d jumped to enough conclusions already.

Bucky followed Steve up on to his porch. “It’s nice enough to sit out here if you want,” Steve said with a vague gesture to the two chairs.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, taking a seat so that he was sitting on Steve’s left side.

Steve ducked into the house and reappeared a few minutes later with a tray in one hand. He trailed his free hand over the small table between them before setting it down. Mismatched mugs, a creamer, and sugar bowl sat beside an iPhone and a strange looking device with buttons and some kind of display.

“I forgot to ask how you like your coffee,” Steve admitted, looking endearingly sheepish.

“Black is fine.” Bucky accepted the mug that Steve held out for him. “Thanks.”

Steve took a moment to prepare his coffee with plenty of both cream and sugar before reaching for the strange object on the tray. “It’s a Braille display that connects to my phone over bluetooth. Even though I can hear enough to make out a good bit of speech, it’s easier if you text me. That way I miss less.”

“Sounds like a pretty neat system,” Bucky murmured, pulling out his phone.

Steve gave him his number, and from there Bucky texted him while Steve gave his replies aloud. There was a long pause between each bit of the exchange as Bucky typed his question and watched as Steve ran his fingers over the display. It was a bit awkward at first, but it wasn’t like a one armed guy was completely immune to awkward moments.

 _Do you live on your own?_ Bucky asked over text.

Steve nodded. “I used to have a roommate, but Clint got engaged two years ago and moved out. I have an intervener—that’s a person who specializes in assisting and interpreting for the deafblind—who comes twice a week to help with errands and any appointments I need to make, but other than that I live mostly on my own. You’d be surprised how much a deafblind person can do on their own.”

 _I just got out of a kind of home for disabled vets. There were a lot of guys who did things there that I’d never thought possible. I’m kind of learning to adjust my thinking on that score._ Bucky hit send before he realized that he was opening a line of conversation that he didn’t exactly want to talk about. Steve being so at ease with his disability somehow made Bucky forget to be self conscious of his own.

For the first time Steve frowned. “I didn’t realize that you were disabled, too, but there are more of us than most people ever suspect. After all, it is the only minority group that people can find themselves in randomly and at any time in their life.”

Bucky was surprised that Steve hadn’t asked the nature of his disability or how it had happened. It was the first time since that damn explosion that someone assumed it was none of their fucking business. He was so shocked that it took him a moment to realize he was just sitting there staring at Steve. Hurrying up, he typed the first thing he could think of: _I go to the community college. I saw you in the library last night teaching your class. That must be one interesting topic to teach._

 _“_ I only teach that class once a semester as an uncredited course. I keep trying to expand it, but… there’s not a whole lot of interest in Disability Rights outside of our community. This time I have seven students, and that’s the most ever. I’m a guidance counselor at the school for the deaf as my regular job. How about you?”

_Just college for now. Trying to get my life together after the Army._

Steve was still reading Bucky’s answer when a car pulled into the drive. An attractive red haired woman got out, she gave Bucky a measured look but didn’t say anything until she was on the porch. Stamping her foot heavily on the wooden floor boards, she angled herself towards Steve’s good ear. “I knew you’d be lolly gagging, Rogers,” she half-yelled. She touched his hand and made a series out quick touches that didn’t look anything like the sign that Bucky had ever seen.

Steve grinned. “Got side tracked. Natasha this is Bucky from next door. Bucky, Natasha.”

Bucky held out his hand. The woman’s grip was a good bit harder than most, and her eyes traveled up and down him with the efficiency he’d seen over and over again in the military. “Good to meet you,” she said flatly.

“You too.”

Natasha angled her hand back under Steve’s and began signing again. It surprised Bucky that she spoke as she moved. “It’s almost ten, and you’re appointment is at eleven.”

“Forgot,” Steve muttered with a frustrates slump to his shoulders. “Sorry to cut this short, Bucky.”

“No problem,” Bucky said aloud, setting the coffee cup aside.

He felt oddly bereft after he said his goodbyes to the pair. It wasn’t that his talk with Steve had been that profound or anything, but he realized that it was probably the most social he’d been with a new person in probably the whole year and a half since his injury. He made a mental note to try to make more friends at school or at least contact his long time friends more often. He didn’t dare think about how he’d felt staring at Steve’s wonderful smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASL is a diverse language with its own grammar, flow, and even colloquialisms. It is very different from spoken English, and I haven't figured out quite how to represent it accurately in this story, so I have taken license with it. Also, the deafblind manual alphabet and ASL are different languages as well. Which a deafblind person prefers will vary by individual.

Saturday mornings were arguably Steve’s favorite time of the week during the summer. Weather permitting, Steve’s best friend, Sam would pick him up for their weekly run just after six in the morning. Steve really loved spending time with Sam, but it was really the run that made these times so precious to him. These trail runs gave him a myriad of smells and sensations that he just didn’t get running on his treadmill in his basement. At the moment, Steve was loving every breath of the early morning air he could pull into his lungs. The air smelled like a hundred kinds of trees that he couldn’t identify individually, and there was just a slight hit of chill in the air that made each inhale feel slightly sharp as he took it in. On top of that, there was the feeling of freedom running gave him. The pair had made this particular jaunt probably a hundred times over the last few years, and Steve almost felt like he could run it on his own by this point. He was less focused on the million possible pitfalls around him and more focused in on the sheer joy of running itself.

Sam rubbed the back of Steve’s hand just after they rounded the last sharp bend of the trail. It was their usual sign that Sam was going to start slowing his pace down for the last bit. Rather than trying to use actual signs while running, the pair had made their own short handed code for anything Sam needed to let Steve know along the way. They ran with Steve holding loosely to Sam’s elbow and another light tether between their waists. Turns to the left or right were easy for Steve to follow. Obstacles were communicated in quick taps: one quick tap meant slight grade up, two meant slight grade down, three meant there was an obstruction on the path that they were going around. A squeeze to his hand meant there was a curb or step up coming in roughly three paces. It had taken a hell of a lot of trial and error, and Steve didn’t take it lightly just how much effort Sam put into giving this to him. He would never stop being grateful for just how good of a friend Sam Wilson had been to him.

They’d met just after Steve had finished his undergrad. He’d been looking for a personal trainer who was willing to work with him and wasn’t going to be a dick about having to do things a bit differently. The search had not been going well. Even with the help of an intervener, there were a lot of things that had to be shown to Steve differently. He couldn’t see and mimic form. He couldn’t hear most verbal instructions over the music in the gym or other background noises. All instruction had to come between reps. The process was long and a bit tedious to most hearing/sighted people. It wasn’t until his friend Clint had recommended Sam that Steve had any success. As a CODA—child of deaf adult—Sam was fluent in ASL and more willing to adapt to Steve’s needs.

They just clicked from the moment they met. Without being asked, Sam took it upon himself to learn the deafblind manual alphabet. Not only was Sam willing to go the additional mile to make sure that were able to communicate instructions properly, he arranged for Steve to come in before the gym officially opened for the day to help eliminate any distractions. Seven years later, Sam was more than a trainer to Steve—he was his best friend. Sam was funny and sarcastic and giving and a million other things that Steve couldn’t put into words in any language. If Sam wasn’t lamentably straight as an arrow, Steve would have dropped to one knee years ago.

Once they were at a walking pace, Sam nudged his hand under Steve’s: _You started lagging back there around mile three._

“Did not!” Steve said aloud with a laugh. “I was just following your lead, old man.”

 _Haha! You’re a comedian today,_ Sam signed. Steve could feel the slight tremors through his arm that indicated Sam really was laughing.

“I’m always funny, Sam.”

_Eyeroll. You are a giant nerd._

Back at the car, Steve pulled his hearing aid and a bottle of water from his bag. After clipping the aid into place, he uncapped the water and took a long gulp. Despite his assertion that Sam had been the one slowing up, he was a bit more tired than usual. He’d had a hard time sleeping the night before. There hadn’t been one particular thing keeping him up, but he’d been restless enough that even the sleep he got hadn’t really left him feeling recharged. He briefly thought about mentioning it to Sam, but knowing Sam—the consummate “fix-it” friend—he would have tried to needle Steve into admitting that something was bothering him.

 _“Meet your new neighbor yet?”_ Sam asked, using both his hands and his voice. He didn’t speak up loud enough that Steve would have been able to understand him through sound alone, but Steve appreciated the steady rumble of Sam’s voice just the same.

“Last week. He brought my trash can lid over after it blew down the street,” Steve said thinking back fondly. He’d been more than a bit surprised when the lid he’d been searching for was thrust against his arm, but he gave Bucky points for not scurrying off the second the deed was done. The guy might not have experience with a deafblind person, but he’d been willing to try—something that was far rarer than most people would assume.

 _“_ _That all you’ve got? Natasha said you were making eyes at the dude.”_ Once again, Sam’s hands were shaking lightly with humor.

“I’m blind. I can’t make eyes at anyone. And if Natasha already told you about it, why would you ask? He’s just a nice guy. That’s all,” Steve said, putting as much emphasis on the final words as he could.

“ _Whatever you say._ ”

By necessity, there wasn’t much talking on the drive home, and Steve let his thoughts drift back to Bucky. He didn’t know much about the guy except that he was nice enough to chat for a few minutes over a cup of coffee. Natasha had said that Bucky was good looking, but good looks didn’t matter much to Steve. He’d never been able to see, so he was attracted to other things about people. From what he could tell, Bucky had a pleasant voice, and the cologne he wore smelled nice, but that was as much as Steve had picked up on so far about him physically. Natasha did fill in the mystery about Bucky’s disability when they’d talked. She’d said Bucky’s left arm was missing all the way up to the shoulder. Steve hadn’t wanted to ask about that in deference to the fact that Bucky hadn’t asked about Steve’s deafblindness either, but knowing that Bucky was an amputee did paint a clearer picture of the man in his mind. All in all though, what Steve felt for Bucky was just a passing attraction. It wasn’t likely he’d be seeing too much of his neighbor. Steve was utterly avoidable, and boy did people ever avoid him.

Sam reached for Steve’s hand as the car pulled to a stop. _“You’re boy’s outside mowing his lawn. We should say Hi.”_

Steve heaved a sigh and opened the car door. Saying “no” would only ensure that Sam made fun of Steve even more about Bucky, so he supposed bothering his neighbor would be a smaller price to pay. He held up his hand and waved towards the sound of the lawn mower without knowing if Bucky was even looking his way. Doubtless if that didn’t work, Sam would get his attention, but the lawn mower cut off.

“Hey Steve!” Bucky called loudly to Steve’s left. The fact that he not only remembered but was once again putting actual effort into making communication easier made Steve’s stomach flutter lightly.

 _He’s cute,_ Sam signed without voice to Steve. “Hi. I’m Sam Wilson.”

“Sorry to bother you while you’re working. I just wanted to say hello,” Steve rambled, fighting the urge to punch Sam in the face.

“You didn’t bother me. I’m almost done and could use a break anyway,” Bucky assured him.

 _“So you’re an Army vet?”_ Sam asked, signing for Steve’s benefit.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied as Sam continued signing. “I was in for almost nine years. Lost the arm in Afghanistan and got my walking papers.”

“I’m an Air Force vet, myself. I was lucky enough to escape without a scratch though and didn’t feel like pushing it any further,” Sam confessed.

The pair talked about their military experiences for a couple minutes while Steve listened and followed along with Sam’s signing. He tried to push away the feeling of being a third-wheel in the conversation between two sighted/hearing people. Things were easier for Steve one-on-one or with Natasha. Though Sam usually made an effort to keep Steve caught up on all sides of the conversation, he wasn’t a trained intervener. Every now and again, he forgot to sign parts of the conversation or let the flow move too fast for Steve to interject anything. Overall, it was one of those rare times when Steve really hated being deafblind. Feeling the need to insert himself back in the conversation, Steve decided to speak up.

“Sam and I are going to throw some burgers on the grill after we get cleaned up. You’re welcome to join us if you want,” he offered. The second he was done speaking, he wanted to smack himself. He hadn’t intended to invite Bucky over, but now that it was out in the open, there was no taking it back.

“Sure. I need to finish up and get a shower, but I can run to the store if you need me to grab something,” Bucky said.

“We have plenty,” Steve answered too quickly. “So we’ll see you in say an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

On the way up the walk way, Sam elbowed Steve affectionately. _Good work. Didn’t think you had it in you._

 _“You’re an asshole!”_ Steve spoke and signed in ASL for emphasis.

 


	3. Chapter 3

For a long time after his injury, Bucky couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror, not even with clothes. It wasn’t just his missing arm that made the image staring back at him so jarring. The dozens of scars that now lined his body disgusted him. Probably the worst part was the puckered and pulled mass of scar tissue that ran from his collar bone to his shoulder, covering his entire left side with a discolored ugliness. The others weren’t as bad, but he could still easily trace each one with his fingertips any time he needed a reminder of just how fucked his whole life had become. The cherry on the sundae, though, was that during his time under sedation and the bed rest that followed his body had wasted away to little more than skin stretched over his tall frame. Thankfully things had changed since he’d first started his recovery. Many of the scars had faded. The one from the tracheotomy had faded to the point that it was barely noticeable. He’d gotten used to see a stump where his left arm used to be. Therapy and good meals had put back on a good bit of the weight he’d lost and even a hint of the muscle mass. When Bucky looked in the mirror now, he didn’t flinch or feel the overwhelming anger he once felt.

As he stared in the mirror that afternoon, the only thing he really felt for the image in front of him was annoyance. Mowing the lawn had been a massive pain in the ass. Not only was the pushing the damn thing with one arm exhausting as fuck, but turning it had been an exercise in frustration. Just when he’d talked himself into believing that it wasn’t that bad. Then Steve and his friend showed up… They both had obviously been through a hell of a work out—one that was probably a bit more intensive than mowing one small ass plot of yard—and it was hard not to note the difference between how sculpted their bodies were versus how weak his had become. It was more than just the arm. Bucky had always been a gym rat before before getting hurt, now the thought of baring himself to a gym full of undamaged people made him a sick. It was enough that he had pretty much let himself go to shit. His body wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination over or underweight. He his waist was slim and his right arm was corded with muscle, even if it wasn’t bulging. Still it was a far cry from how ripped he had once been. He missed feeling strong. And to be honest, wasn’t it less his arm that made mowing the grass a trial and more that he’d let himself go? Grabbing a clean shirt from the dresser, Bucky tossed it on, resolving to go pick up some free weights after lunch.

Before heading out the door, Bucky sent a quick text to Steve to make sure it was still okay to come over. The invitation to lunch had kind of surprised Bucky. He’d have had to be as blind and deaf as Steve to miss the chemistry and ease that passed between the two men. The smile that Sam gave Steve through out the short meeting was an affectionate one. It was the kind that lingered somewhere between friendly and more than friendly. Either way, whether Sam was Steve’s boyfriend or not, it shocked Bucky that the pair would want to add a third wheel. Bucky should have said “no” to the invite, but his brain hadn’t worked fast enough for that. Now, there was no way out of it really.

Bucky knocked on Steve’s door only to have Sam answer it about a second after Bucky’d raised his hand. Giving him a wide grin, Sam stepped aside and ushered Bucky inside. “C’mon in. Steve’s in the kitchen,” he said heading through the foyer.

The row of townhouses that Steve lived in were larger than the one Bucky had. Through a small entrance area, the space widened to a huge open concept kitchen and living room that was even big enough to serve as a dining room too. From the dark, hard wood floors to the gleaming subway tile backsplash and shining stainless appliances, it was pretty obvious that even had one of these units been open when Bucky’d been looking, he’d never have been able to afford one. The whole place looked like something out of an interior design magazine. Before Bucky could think too long on Steve’s home, Sam was stomping his foot on the hard wood and calling for Steve.

“You made it after all!” Steve said with a teasing smirk. “I was worried Sam’s ugly face had scared you off.”

“He’s not that hideous,” Bucky quipped loudly. He felt like he was screaming again, but it was a small price to pay for the laugh that spilled out of Steve. His laugh was a bit braying and louder than it probably should have been. If it was anyone else, it probably would have been annoying as fuck, but it was Steve and that made it charming and adorable.

Sam slid his hand under Steve’s and began signing. “You are both assholes. Just for that shit, I am burning the shit out of your burgers.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Steve fired back, nudging Sam in the ribs with his elbow.

The easy affection between them made Bucky feel a pang of loneliness that he hadn’t even noticed before. When was the last time Bucky had felt that close to someone? Years ago? Maybe never? He’d had more than his fair share of sex. Between his good looks and the uniform, his bed had never been empty for too long. This wasn’t about sex. Bucky was craving a feeling of belonging with someone—as a friend or a lover, he’d gladly take either. As much as it galled him, he was more than a little envious of the men standing just a few feet away.

“I’m not much of a cook, but is there anything I can do?” Bucky offered, pushing away his discomfort.

“Mind pouring some ice tea?” Steve asked. “I can do it, but some people don’t appreciate me putting my finger over the rim to see how full the glass is.”

Bucky wouldn’t have minded, but kept his mouth shut about it

The three of them each had their tasks for the next couple of minutes. Sam went out to the back patio to flip the burgers. Steve set about chopping up vegetables for on top of their salads. Bucky poured the drinks and checked on the oven fries that were baking. The silence in the room wasn’t as unsettling as it should have been. Every now and again, Bucky would sneak a look at Steve who was first handling a knife like it was second nature and then whisking together a vinaigrette with ease. Even back when he had two hands, Bucky’s full list of culinary skills was limited to eggs and boxed mac and cheese. He couldn’t imagine doing any cooking without his sight or most of his hearing, but Steve made it look as easy as breathing.

It didn’t take too long before lunch was ready, and they were all seated beneath a huge picnic umbrella on the back porch. Much like when they’d been cooking, there wasn’t a whole lot of conversation. Every time anyone said anything, it usually led to a full on stop in the meal as Sam took Steve’s hand to sign. It was a complication of Steve’s deafblindness that Bucky hadn’t thought of before, but it didn’t actually make the meal or the company uncomfortable.

Just before they finished, Sam’s phone started chirping, and he excused himself from the table. When he came back, he was grinning ear to ear like an idiot. He leaned in close to Steve’s ear. “It’s a boy!”

“Tell Sarah I said congratulations,” Steve said, gripping his friend’s shoulder. “I guess that makes you ‘Uncle Sam’ then?”

“You’re an idiot, Rogers,” Sam said and signed. He looked up toward Bucky for the first time. “My sister and her husband just had their first kid.”

“Congratulations,” Bucky replied, thinking about how long it had been since he’d seen his own niece and nephew. Becky kept inviting him over and he kept putting it off. Well, he thought blandly, that should change.

“I’ll help you guys get cleaned up before I head out,” Sam announced, breaking Bucky’s thoughts.

“Get outta, Wilson! I can clean up on my own. If I can handle Clint for nearly three years, I can do the damn dishes on my own,” Steve assured him with an exasperated laugh.

“I’ll help,” Bucky volunteered.

Sam eyed the two men for a second. The gaze that landed on Bucky wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but there was something in his dark eyes that made Bucky realize he was being sized up. He must have passed muster because Sam grinned again and shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Would you mind cleaning off the grill?” Steve asked after Sam had gone as he stacked up the now empty plates.

“No problem.”

Bucky made quick work of the grill before turning it off. He took down the umbrella—which took him considerably longer to manage without dropping the damn thing on his face. Grabbing the remaining condiments and tucking them against his body in the crook of his arm, he headed back in.

He called Steve’s name and got no response as the other man just continued to load dishes in the machine. Taking a page from Sam and Natasha’s book, he tried again, this time stomping his foot. That seemed to do the trick and Steve turned towards him. When he did, Bucky couldn’t help but notice that Steve had taken of the sunglasses he’d been wearing. It was the first time Bucky’d seen him without them, and damn wasn’t it a punch in the gut. Steve’s eyes were thickly framed with golden lashes and bluer than should be humanly possible. His eyes themselves moved jerkily and didn’t land on anything in particular, but that didn’t make them any less beautiful.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t a first attempt at getting my attention?” Steve asked with a sheepish laugh.

“It wasn’t,” Bucky confirmed. “I brought in the rest of the stuff. Want me to put it in the fridge?”

“Just set them on the counter here,” Steve said tapping the clear spot next to him on the counter. “Everything has to stay in its spot in the fridge or it becomes one huge pain the ass for me.”

“I didn’t think of that. Sorry.” Bucky should have thought of it and felt a bit stupid.

Steve brushed aside his apology. “Don’t be sorry. I have my quirks. I don’t expect everyone to just know how I do things. All I ask is that you’re willing to bend a little here and there for me. I know it can be a pain in the ass...”

“How’s it a pain in the ass to not be a dick?” Bucky asked incredulously. “I mean so far the stuff you’ve asked me to do is pretty easy. You seem to do fine on your own.”

The smile that spread across Steve’s face was enough to make Bucky’s stomach drop. Damn, Steve Rogers was one of the most beautiful men Bucky’d ever seen, and the guy didn’t even seem aware of it. Those eyes and that smile were a deadly combination. Bucky wanted to kiss those damned perfect lips. More than that, he wanted to rip off that tight shirt of Steve’s and run his fingers over every inch. Bucky wanted… Fuck, he wanted more than he’d ever be able to have. He was suddenly glad that Steve seemed oblivious to his distress.

“Thanks,” Steve said earnestly. “Not everyone sees it that way. I’ve known more people who are more willing to completely ignore me than are willing to take the time to even try.”

“They’re assholes.”

Steve laughed again. “They’re just ignorant, but some of them are assholes.”

“You’re nicer than I am,” Bucky admitted. “And I wish people just ignored me. I get stared at constantly, and no matter where I go there is always at least one person asking me about my arm. Every damn time! I don’t mind as much when it’s a kid, but damn do people ask stupid questions.”

“Someone asked if I was related to Helen Keller once. What's been the best one you've gotten so far?” Steve asked wryly.

Bucky almost choked on his laughter. “Nothing that great yet. Mostly people want to know how I tie my shoes. One guy did offer to help me button my pants back up in the restroom.”

Steve's lips twitched up wickedly. “I'll bet he was hoping you'd take him up on that.”

“Under different circumstances I just might have. He wasn't bad looking.”

“You'll have to forgive me for asking, but are you gay? Deafblindness does put a damper on my gay-dar,” Steve murmured, biting his lip adorably.

“I am,” Bucky affirmed. “Not it matters lately. I've kind of become a monk these days. So you and Sam?”

“Just friends. Sam is straight as they come, actually. I don't date much either,” Steve confessed with a bit of a shrug. “I had a long distance relationship end last year, and I haven't exactly been looking. Finding the perfect guy who is willing to put up with everything that comes along with being with me is exhausting.”

Bucky had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying that he'd gladly “put up with” anything it took to have someone as genuine as Steve was in life. He knew how pathetic it would have sounded had he said it. On top of that, it wasn't like Bucky didn't come with enough baggage to fill a dump truck. His arm didn't even make the top ten list of his worst damage.

“Dating sucks, no matter who you are,” he said half-heartedly.

Steve sighed heavily. “I suppose so.”

With the ease gone from between them, Bucky felt completely out of place. “Anything else you need a hand with?”

“No, I've got it from here,” Steve said.

“In that case, I'll get out of your hair. I've got some stuff to do back home,” Bucky lied.

An unreadable look crossed Steve's handsome face. If Bucky didn't know better, he'd say Steve was disappointed. “Thanks for helping clean up.”

“Thanks for lunch.”

On his way out the door, Bucky shot a glance over his shoulder. Steve had started loading the condiments in the fridge, giving a nice view of his amazingly wide shoulders. Bucky wished he was still the man he was two years ago. Back then, he would have probably stretched lunch to dinner and dinner to the bedroom. He would have swept Steve off his feet and showed him just how amazing he really was. But Bucky wasn't that guy anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve's mom used to joke that he was her clone, from his blue eyes and blond hair right down to his Irish temper. Truth was, it didn't take much to make Steve angry; he'd just learned to focus most of it into being productive. Right now though, he was too pissed to be very productive. His fingers traced over the email that he'd written before he mashed the delete button until every word of it was gone. He realized that he was to upset to be objective at the moment any response he'd send would probably do more harm than good. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and grabbed his cellphone.

 _Lunch at Paula's?_ He texted Clint.

The reply buzzed across his fingers before he could even set aside his Braille display. _Hell yes. Meet at your office in twenty._

 _Paula's_ was an absolute dive of a bar and grille right next to the school. Years ago, the place had attracted a rough crowd, but these days it was more just a watering hole for middle aged locals. A pair of twins straight off the boat from Sokovia had bought the place a year or so ago. Along with the standard American burgers and fries, there was now an Eastern European influence as well in the form of perogies and paprikash. The food had definitely improved and so had the cleanliness of the place. Steve no longer felt his shoes sticking to the floor as they walked to the table. Still, it wasn't the changes to the place's food or cleaning practices that had endeared Paula's to Steve, Clint, and dozens of other Deaf locals.

Wanda—the twin that usually ran the front of the house—had been willing to learn ASL to better serve her customers. While she was far from fluent in ASL, when a Deaf person showed her a new sign she repeated it a few times and made sure to remember it. It was enough that she could take most orders using sign alone—something that wasn't likely to happen at the Applebees down the street. She even went with the flow when Steve gave his order via his phone and display. Because of Wanda, _Paula's_ was slowly becoming a Deafie hangout, whether that had been an intentional move on her part or not.

 _Wanda says hi,_ Clint signed in ASL beneath Steve's hands once they were through the door. _Booth in the back okay?_

Steve smiled in what he hoped was Wanda's direction. “Hello. And a booth is fine.”

They slipped into an angled booth with Clint on the inside. It was a bit of an awkward set up, but it was easier to sign over the corner than the entire table. Though Steve generally preferred to use the deafblind manual alphabet, he always made it a point to use ASL exclusively with Clint and a good many of his Deaf friends. ASL didn't come naturally to him because it used so many 'non-manual features' or elements of ASL that were relative to a facial expression or other factor that didn't necessarily come from the sign itself. Not only was Steve unable to see someone's facial expression, but he didn't grow up mimicking the expressions he saw on other people's faces so he had a hard time conveying certain things to ASL users at times. That said, Steve knew that ASL was probably the biggest defining quality of the Deaf community at large. It was what made the Deaf so different from other sections of disabled people. Deafness was a culture, not the side effect of a disability. To be a part of that culture, Steve had learned to stretch himself over the years. Part of that was using ASL as much as possible, even when he'd much rather go back to the safety of an “easier” language.

 _So what has you in such a shit mood?_ Clint asked once they were seated.

 _That obvious?_ Steve chuckled darkly. _The Millers pulled Adam. They want him to go to a school with a bigger focus on speech therapy and Signing Exact English._

Clint was close enough to Steve's good ear that he could hear Clint's squwak of disgust. _Assholes. They looked like they wanted to crawl out of their skin at the last meet up. Fuckers just don't want to be in the same room as a group of Deafies. They don't know enough sign to keep up with conversation, so it must mean we were talking about them._

Steve sighed and nodded his agreement. He'd already known that Clint would probably take this one personally. If Sam was the voice of reason, Clint was the voice of rebellion. It was the kind of rebellion that being born deaf into a hearing family could cause. Having hearing parents was common, but a good many hearing parents learned ASL and learned to value their child's place as a Deaf person. in the community. Clint's parents hadn't been as bad as the Millers were. They'd been worse. Abusive, unwilling to admit that Clint was Deaf instead of mentally disabled, refusing to learn sign at all even when the truth finally came out; they'd literally been the horror story that haunted many Deaf adults.

 _I tried to talk them out of it,_ Steve said glumly. More than anything he felt like he failed.

 _Not your fault,_ Clint told him. His hands moved crisply enough that Steve could easily read the determination in them. It might not have dissolved Steve's guilt, but it helped lessen it.

_Thanks._

After lunch, Steve felt marginally better than he had before. He typed up his reply to Mrs. Miller. He acknowledged that she obviously had her concerns as a parent and was making a choice that she felt was best. While he offered his support in making the transition as easy as possible for her son, he did give his last ditch effort in swaying her mind even slightly. In the end, it was all he could do for Adam. He had dozens upon dozens of other students that deserved his help too. Realizing that there were times that he couldn't help them all was the most frustrating part of his job.

The rest of day went quicker. In the summer time, he only came into the office two days a week. While the majority of the students were home enjoying their vacation, the school did offer several summer programs. Everything from family and parent ASL classes to the usual summer school for failing students, from social and extracurricular programs to joint classes with local colleges was happening on their grounds. Steve was proud to say that a good many of those things were happening because of his intervention. By the time they were in Clint's car on the way home, Steve felt mostly at ease.

Clint usually just dropped Steve off at the door, but with his finance away on business, they'd made plans to watch the ballgame on TV. Steve had to admit that it was one of a handful of things that Steve missed from his time living with Clint. Before first pitch, the pair shoved a pizza in the oven and settled on the couch with a couple of beers _while_ it baked.

 _So tell me about the new neighbor,_ Clint demanded before Steve had even had his first sip of beer.

 _That took longer than I thought it would,_ Steve quipped. _Sam or Nat?_

_Sam. Nat only gabs when there's half a bottle of vodka gone._

Steve sighed. In all honestly, he didn't know what to say about Bucky. For one brief moment, it had almost seemed like they were flirting, but then Steve ruined it by whining about his lack of a love life. After that, Bucky hadn't been able to run out of the house fast enough. He was just another in a long line of people that Steve had managed to scare off. Despite what his friends may think, not everyone was willing to completely overlook the things they were willing to. Finally, Steve said the only thing he could think of: _He's a nice enough neighbor. Nothing more._

_Damn. Sam made it seem like you two were hitting it off. Sorry._

Thankfully, the baseball game served as a distraction. Clint finger spelled off each play as it happened. With the TV volume maxed out, Steve could almost hear some of the color commentary as well. Baseball was a hell of a lot easier than relationships it seemed, and unlike when flirtation went to shit, Steve could still say that he enjoyed the game even if his team lost. Which it did that night, just to cap off an extremely awesome day.

Clint left just after the game ended, and Steve couldn't help but notice how empty the house seemed. The floor boards felt still and lifeless without another set of footsteps moving around. He hadn't been lying to Bucky when he said he was fine living on his own, but damned if it wasn't a lonely way to live. Every now and again, Steve regretted his decision to break it off with Scott rather than moving to California like they'd originally planned. At first the temptation, to email Scott and say that he'd made a mistake just to quell that lonliness had been nearly breath taking, but now that feeling was no more than a subtle pang. Scott had moved on with someone else. Most days, Steve felt that he'd moved on as well. It was only now and again—when loneliness reared its ugly head—that he wished he'd clung onto either his friend or his lover. Maybe if anything could come from his almost flirting with Bucky it was that he was starting to realize that it was time to get back out there again.

The next morning, Steve was still considering the possibilities of getting back in the dating scene. He didn't have too long to contemplate the idea over his coffee before his phone was buzzing with a text from the last person he expected to hear from: Bucky. Steve actually ran his fingers over the display twice just to be sure it wasn't a trick of his brain. It wasn't.

_Hey neighbor. Any chance you have a minute to spare?_

For a split second, Steve considered lying. It would be easier to not make a fool out of himself if he avoided Bucky all together. He drummed his fingertips on the counter top for a minute before deciding that no matter how convenient the lie would be, it would be the asshole thing to do. _I might even have a few minutes depending on what you need,_ he typed.

 _Good because this might take that long. I screwed up and could use a hand. Literally,_ Bucky added just as Steve finished the first line.

Steve's lips quirked up at the joke—horrible, as it was. _I have multiple minutes and two fully functional hands. What can I do for you?_

 _Mind if I come over and show you? I feel stupid just typing it,_ Bucky admitted _._

Steve had to admit he was more than a little curious about what exactly Bucky needed. His mind ran through a few things like tying a tie or something like that, but none of the options seemed particularly embarrassing. He didn't have to wait too long on his front porch before Bucky was calling his name.

“Can we do this inside?” Bucky asked. “I don't want the entire neighborhood to see me like this.”

“What exactly did you do, Buck?” Steve asked, ushering his neighbor inside.

Bucky let out a loud groan. “I tried to pull my hair back in a ponytail so it wouldn't fall in my face. The lady on Youtube made it look easy to do with one hand, but I got my hair completely tangled in this fucking thing.”

Even though Bucky had been talking a little fast, Steve was able to make most of it out. He didn't know why, but the situation was probably more comical than it should have been. The harder he tried to keep himself from laughing the more he failed. “I'm sorry for laughing,” he said, laughing even harder as the words fell from his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, dick,” Bucky muttered. “Are you gonna help me fix this or not?”

“I'll help,” Steve assured him, finally getting his humor under wraps. “Come sit on the couch. I'll see what I can do.”

Bucky did as he was told. Reaching out tentatively, Steve found the other man's shoulder and let his fingers trail up the back of Bucky's neck and into his hair. The flesh beneath Steve touch quivered lightly, and it took all his willpower to not imagine said flesh shivering beneath his hands under entirely different circumstances. “Sorry if that tickles,” he managed to apologize, moving his hands further up.

“It's alright. For some reason after getting hurt, my neck is super sensitive,” Bucky explained.

The explanation didn't help curb Steve's dirty thoughts, so he focused on the task in his hands. Bucky's hair was hopelessly knotted in around an elastic band. Silken strands had worked into dozens of separate tangles that each had to be handled individually. It reminded Steve of a ring puzzle his mom had bought him once when he was a kid. Thankfully for Bucky, Steve's fingers were quite talented at puzzles. A few minutes later, Steve freed the band and ran his hands through the shoulder length softness of Bucky's hair. He mentally gave himself the excuse of searching for further tangles, but really he was just enjoying the feel of letting the strands fall between his fingers. The more he touched the more the subtle scent of fruity shampoo reached his nose, making stopping even harder. And then, just when Steve, was nearly lost in the sensations, Bucky let out a moan that Steve felt with his hands rather than heard. He pulled his fingers back quickly and forced them against his sides.

“I'm pretty sure I got it all,” he managed to grind out.

“Yeah, no tangles,” Bucky agreed as he moved next to Steve again. Even to Steve's faulty ear, his voice sounded strained. “Thanks for that. I think this should be a lesson. I should just cut my damn hair.”

“Don't.” The plea startled Steve as it came from his lips. He certainly wasn't a guru on hairstyles in general, but Bucky's hair had felt so nice that it almost seemed like a crime to cut it. “I... I mean, I'm sure you'll get the hang of putting it up one handed.”

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed dubiously. “And about the other day, I'm sorry for being a dick.”

Steve bit his lip. “No. Don't apologize. It's my fault. I shouldn't have started whining.”

Bucky let out a hearty laugh. “I was the one having a pity party, not you. I felt bad for having my head up my ass when you were just being nice.”

“So we were commiserating in our shared misery then?” Steve suggested with a nervous chuckle of his own. “We're human. I think we're allowed every now and again.”

“If you say so. I feel like the last two years of my life have been one long ass sob story told on repeat. I don't want to be that person anymore, and I don't want to drag other people into my bullshit.”

“Did you ever think that a good portion of being someone's friend is just dealing with their bullshit?” Steve asked.

“So we're friends now?” Bucky asked. He was so close to Steve that his breath danced across Steve's neck. “I don't have too many of those left above ground.”

“Well, you've got one next door. For what its worth, my two hands and one mostly-working ear are at your disposal anytime,” Steve offered.

“I can toss my fully working ears and eyes, one intact arm, and only slightly damaged brain into the pot if you ever need me, too.” Bucky's voice was less tight again. “And I don't mean to ask a favor and run off, but I've got a doctor's appointment to keep...”

“Go,” Steve said, smiling. “But next time remind me to tell you about the time my dry cleaners didn't put my Braille tags back on my shirts. You may think twice about wanting to be seen with me in public again.”

Steve checked the door and set his security system after Bucky had left. Running his fingers over his own lips, he couldn't help but realize that he was smiling like an idiot. He was just glad that none of his friends were there to see him at the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky frowned at his laptop screen and smashed delete until every word disappeared. He resisted the urge to throw the device like a damned Frisbee across the room mainly because he didn’t currently have enough in his “oh shit” fund to cover a replacement. For the last two hours, Bucky had been diligently pecking away at the keyboard, rewriting his resume. As strange as it seemed being that he was nearing thirty, he’d never actually bothered too much with a formal resume before. He’d only actually held three jobs: his summer stints at an ice cream stand, a short-lived job busing tables before basic, and the Army. It was harder than he’d thought trying to sum up the last decade of his life in civilian terms that would help land him a part time job. Somehow _“I picked off shitheads from my tactical position on a rooftop”_ didn’t seem likely to win over any potential employers. If he was less stubborn, he would be looking over the information packet that the VA had given him outlining just this kind of thing or taken his therapist’s advice in reaching out to the agency she recommended, but his mom had always said he had a cement block for a skull so here he sat.

Before he could resign himself to starting the whole damn thing over again, Bucky grabbed his empty coffee mug and headed to the end of the line to get a refill. He’d never been one for uppity coffee drinks, but he had to admit that there was something about people watching at a Starbucks that actually helped Bucky get shit done. It was one of those things he’d stumbled across inadvertently since starting school. The library on campus was too quiet, and the temptation to procrastinate was too strong when he was at home. On a whim, he’d stumbled into a coffee shop a few weeks earlier and ended up breezing through more in two hours than he’d done in twice that previously. If he had to suck down a few cups of overpriced bullshit coffee to do it, that was a small price to pay.

Bucky had no sooner sat back down at his table in the back corner than a familiar face was grinning in his direction. Without being invited, Sam was pulling out a chair. “Hey, man. Didn’t think they let you out in public.”

“Barely,” Bucky agreed with a grin. It actually felt good to be teased. Not too many people had were either close enough or willing to do it these days.

“Didn’t peg you for the five-bucks-a-cup kind,” Sam said, eying Bucky’s mug.

Bucky shrugged. “Beats sitting around the house.”

Sam nodded to the computer. “Class work?”

“Decided to get off my ass and get a part time job before I become one with my couch,” Bucky admitted, feeling more than a little stupid about the whole thing. He couldn’t help thinking that it was kind of pathetic to be looking at part time jobs like some high school kid when most people his age had full blown careers.

“What kind of job are you looking for?” Sam asked with his dark eyes suddenly inventive. “Any special hours? Pay?”

“Something I can do with this,” Bucky answered, hooking his chin to his empty left sleeve. “The rest can kind of be negotiable so long as I can still go to school. Know of something?”  
Sam grinned. “I need someone to run the front desk at the gym three or four days a week. Depending on your availability, it’s all yours.”

“Uhhhh...” Bucky just sat there and blinked for a second.

“You’d mostly just be answering the phone and wiping off the equipment—not exactly the most thrilling job in the world, but the pay’s decent and the gym is at your disposal anytime you aren’t working,” Sam added.

“Right now I have class Mondays, Wednesday, and Friday until six,” Bucky said warily. “Also, I haven’t exactly worked with the public in a long time. I won’t be great at selling memberships or anything.”

“All I ask is that you be polite,” Sam assured him. The look he gave Bucky wasn’t one of pity but understanding. “And look, I get what it’s like coming from the military back to the real world. I’m not asking you to sell anything or pretend to be something you’re not. If you give it a shot and it doesn’t work out, let me know. I won’t hold it against you if you need something else.”

“Promise you’ll fire my ass if I suck at it?” Bucky asked, looking away. “I don’t need this out of any kind of obligation or anything.”

“It’s not why I’m offering it.”

Bucky let his gaze flick back to Sam’s. “So tell me why?”

“I get a lot of people comin’ to my gym that aren’t exactly comfortable going to that giant fitness complex down the street. I have Deaf folks who come because I sign and most of my trainers at least know the basics. I have trans men and women who are afraid to use the locker room. I have veterans who don’t want to show their scars while some bleach blonde piece of trash stares at them like they are nothing or laugh at them is something spooks them. I’ve got older people, people with health issues, and people who are what the medical community likes to term morbidly obese.” Sam leaned in and crossed his arms. “I need someone who is going to treat every single client of mine who walks through my door like a human being and not judge.”

“How do you know that’s me? Losing an arm doesn’t mean I’m automatically a good person,” Bucky countered. He didn’t add that he’d met enough douche bags recovering in Walter Reed to keep the Eastern seaboard yeast free for ten years… he figured Sam knew that much on his own.

“Steve says you’re a good dude. I’ve learned to trust his jugement. Besides, I’ve seen you go out of your way to interact with someone it might have been just easier to ignore.” Bucky started to say something, but Sam held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t try to tell me any different. I’ve seen people do it enough times—assholes too stupid to realize that Steve may not see or hear like they do, but still has a brain and a way to communicate.”

All Bucky could do was sigh heavily.

“Walk back to the gym with me,” Sam suggested. “See the place and then make up your mind.”

The gym was less than three blocks from the coffee shop. Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a sudden rush of self-consciousness walking through the door. It had been a long time since he’d been in a gym, and he still could picture the perfect bodies glistening on the weight benches. Despite Sam’s little speech, he had a hard time imagining a place where he’d be comfortable enough to let his scars show. The truth of the gym was somewhere between Bucky’s imagined hell and Sam’s promised utopia.

By most standards, The Redwing Gym was tiny. While the majority of chain gyms had thirty to forty treadmills, Bucky only counted about five lined up in front of a couple of stair steppers and elliptical machines. The weight machines and free weights each had their own section, but it looked like there was only one of each kind available. On either side of the room was a glass walled specialty work out area—one was obviously set up for spinning and the other looked like it could serve any number of classes. Only a few patrons dotted the space—which for two o’clock on a Tuesday wasn’t shocking. Bucky’s eyes flew over a muscle-bound blond man on a weight bench and a middle aged woman on an elliptical before landing on a pair in the back before landing on a pair sitting on two of the machines side by side.

The man wasn’t someone Bucky recognized, but the red haired woman beside him was Steve’s—what had he called her?—intervenor, Natasha. Natasha’s hands moved quickly as she pulled a disgusted face. The stranger at her side let out a loud laugh before replying in sign. The language looked so fluid and beautiful as they signed. For the first time in his life, Bucky regretted not taking the ASL class his high school had offered back when he still had two hands.

“You know Clint and Tasha?” Sam asked, shaking Bucky from his thoughts.

“I met Natasha at Steve’s,” Bucky answered. “I heard Steve mention a guy named Clint. Weren’t they room mates?”

Sam nodded and raised a brow. “Other than a few disreputable clients, what do you think? Think this is somewhere you can work?”

Sparing a look across the room one more time, Bucky tried to think of a job he’d actually feel one hundred percent comfortable with. When he failed to conjure up one, he had to admit that at least the company here was good, and he liked his new boss. “I think I can handle wiping sweat up a few days a week.”

Sam clapped Bucky hard on the shoulder. “Good. I knew you’d take one look at the place and fall in love.”  
“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Bucky quipped.

Before he could think too long and change his mind, Bucky found himself being all-but dragged into Sam’s teeny office to fill out paperwork. Bucky felt a small kernel of accomplishment as he checked what felt like twenty million boxes and re-wrote the same information over and over again. By the time he was done, he was grinning like a moron. Bucky actually had to stop himself from calling his mom to proudly announce that he was once again gainfully employed once he was home. Though it wasn’t much of a job, but it was the first time in well over a year that he felt like he was actually going to be doing something useful with himself.

He’d talked at length with Maria, his therapist, about feeling adrift lately. It had only been a few days ago at his weekly appointment that she brought up the possibility of him maybe looking for either a part time or volunteer position. His knee-jerk reaction had been to dismiss the idea out of hand. After all, hadn’t he taken on two huge adjustments with the house and going to college? It would be easy to wall himself off and accept the comfort that keeping things “safe” would bring, but Maria was challenging him more and more to step out of that habit. The idea of it had been a little scary, but looking at the polo shirts Sam had given him with the red and silver falcon and the gym name emblazoned on them made him glad he at least tried. Who would have thought he’d actually manage getting a job without fixing his damn resume?

Bucky had just finished brushing his teeth and getting read to turn in when his phone began chirping from it’s spot on the night stand. He guessed it was either his sister or mom, but when he saw Steve’s name on the screen, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Congrats on the new job. I hope you are ready to work with one of the biggest assholes I know. Jk,” the text read.

Grinning, Bucky flopped on the bed and pecked out a quick response. “Word travels fast. And thank you.”

“Sam is a great guy, but telling him something is the best way to spread the news.”

Bucky typed as he laughed: “I saw your friends Natasha and Clint at the gym. I didn’t actually get to meet Clint, but Sam pointed him out to me.”

“Clint is the second on the list of people never to tell secrets to.”

“Is there anyone you know that can actually keep their mouth shut?” Bucky asked, shaking his head.

“Me,” Steve replied quickly. “I’ve got see no evil and hear no evil down. Occasionally, I have been known to speak no evil and complete the trio.”

“You are such a punk!”

Steve’s only reply was simply “smiling.” It was somehow endearing that he actually typed out the word instead of using the emoji. Although, in retrospect, Bucky assumed that was probably due to using the braille keyboard instead of the keyboard on his phone. Still, it was endearing. Everything about Steve was endearing...that was part of why he was so dangerous.

“I’ve got an early morning. Goodnight, punk,” Bucky typed, giving into the temptation to continue to tease his neighbor even when he knew he _really_ shouldn’t.

“Goodnight, Buck.”

Bucky hadn’t been lying to Steve when he said he had to get up early. His alarm clock started screeching at four AM. He hit the snooze a half dozen times and didn’t let his feet hit the floor until almost five. It was nearly six before he managed to get himself dressed, showered, shaved, and marginally alive enough to make the forty-five minute drive into Bethesda for his bi-weekly PT appointment.

At this point, Bucky was mostly where he was going to be recovery wise for the rest of his life. He didn’t discount that he’d come a long fucking way. When he’d first woke up, his balance and short-term memory were practically shit in addition to finding himself a one-armed man. On top of that even had been the delayed speech and lack of hand-eye coordination courtesy of his TBI. At the same time he was relearning how to tie his shoes again, he had also been in intensive therapy to be able to simply walk a fucking straight line again. Bucky didn’t take all that work for granted. His current sessions were more for fine tuning, as his PT specialist called it.

He met Jim, his PT, in the usual place near the weight room just as he was finishing up with a patient who looked to be just starting to learn how to walk on the short legs known as “stubbies.” Bucky took a seat along the wall on one of the benches and began reading articles on his phone. He was midway through a fluff piece when Jim tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ready to work your ass off again?” Jim asked with a shit eating grin.

The next hour and a half was grueling, but not the torture his early sessions had been. Mostly, they worked on his balance. Jim had Bucky sit on a yoga ball and tilt his head back with his eyes closed. When they’d first tried the exercise a year ago, Bucky had landed on his ass in less than five seconds. Now, he could feel his body responding and righting itself pretty much instinctively—that was why Jim was suddenly jabbing lightly at his chest to knock him off. In the end, he only fell twice. It was a new record. After that came working with the kettle bell and a few other strength drills. Bucky wasn’t ashamed by the thin layer of sweat that dampened his shirt.

Between a decent work out and finding a job, Bucky was pretty pleased with the way his week was going, and then Bucky spotted a familiar face walking into the building as he was walking out. The blood in his veins turned cold as Brock-fucking-Rumlow turned towards Bucky’s direction. Being the complete son of a bitch that he was, Brock nodded to Bucky and gave him a sly wink, but at the very least he didn’t close the gap between them or say anything. Bucky wasn’t sure he could have handled that without punching those god damned white teeth of Brock’s the whole way down his throat. Even a year later, Bucky could still remember the exact tone in Brock’s voice when he broke things off between them. “ _You and I were just fun, Barnes. I wasn’t in it for the long haul, and I’m not sticking it out while you pull your shit back together,”_ he’d said like he was complaining about his food being cold, rather than ending two years of their lives. The worst part was that he’d done it over the damn phone; Brock couldn’t even be bothered to spare the time to do it in person.

Bucky forced himself to turn his back and walk away, but any good feelings he’d had about his prospects at the moment had faded away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am starting to add some deeper back story for both boys here (oh, the curveball that is coming your way, tags will be added). Steve and a lot of his experiences come from a lady that I have had the pleasure of meeting recently. She has not only been gracious enough to let me attempt learning the deafblind manual alphabet with her, but she has given me a lot of insight into what Steve's life may have looked like. I did, with her permission, use some of her own personal history with her hearing loss and what getting a cochlear looks like to someone with dual sensory loss. All in all, this woman has been amazing. She knows about this fic and was vastly amused that she was the inspiration for parts of this version of Captain America--though she was less interested in reading once I explained to her what Stucky was LOL. Granted, even with this first person source, there is a lot about deafblindness that I don't know. I am doing my best with research but if anyone here happens to catch anything, please let me know.

 

As a kid, Steve had never been able to hold still—especially not when he was nervous. He’d done everything from wringing his hands and stomping his feet to rubbing his fingertips over the edges of any furniture, swinging his head, or even bouncing in his seat. It had taken years for him to realize that it was a need to feel connected that led him to do it, but that hadn’t been the first thing he’d learned about the habit. With his mother and teachers, Steve had never tried to control his movements. They’d never felt any real need to tell him that it wasn’t perfectly acceptable. He had no idea that to sighted people he looked strange until he’d been bluntly told by one of the first abled kids he’d ever tried to make friends with.

Gabe had been the only kid in the apartment complex who would even bother for half a minute with Steve. Though he was fourteen to Steve’s (very immature for his age) eleven, Gabe would sometimes play cars with Steve or help him on the playground. Then one day Gabe had gotten angry for no apparent reason that Steve could tell. He’d yelled at Steve for acting like a “retarded freak in front of everyone.” Of course, Steve had been absolutely devastated. What Steve didn’t know at the time was that the only reason Gabe had ever bothered with him in the first place was to catch the eye of one of the girls next door. It was the last time Steve ever hung out with Gabe. It was also the first time Steve began to really realize how he looked to the outside sighted/hearing/abled world around him. His mother had assured him that there was nothing wrong with the way Steve acted and he shouldn’t be ashamed of how he moved but the damage had been done.

Now as an adult, Steve usually tried to be aware of how his body language would come across. He was acutely aware of how “blindisms” could be misconstrued as a sign that he was “mentally challenged” or whatever the hell offensive term people used these days. In an ideal world, it wouldn’t be something he ever thought about, but the world he lived in was far from ideal. This was not one of the times that he cared, though. He sat in the audiologist's office running his hands continually over the tops of his thighs nervously and jiggling his foot. If the movement bothered Natasha in her seat beside him, she didn't say.

Rationally, he already knew what kind of news he was going to get, but he couldn't help himself. It wasn’t like he was unaware of the slow decline of his hearing suddenly turning into a downward spiral at max speed. Ambient sounds that he’d once been able to use as markers in his every day life were fading at an alarming rate. Verbal conversations were becoming harder and harder to follow even with people he normally could understand. Though Steve knew that profound deafness was something that had been a possibility for a large portion of his life, facing a truly soundless life was terrifying. He’d first faced the real threat of losing his remaining hearing at seventeen. Until then, he’d had some useable hearing out of his right ear and only moderate hearing loss in his left with nothing more than over the ear hearing aids. True, it had been enough that his speech and verbal comprehension had been greatly impacted, but he’d gotten by well enough. Then within a six month span, everything changed. He lost almost all hearing even with his hearing aids. If it hadn’t been for his mother, Steve didn’t know how he would have made it through it all. She saw him through the transition to a bone anchored aid on his left side and helped him adjust to his new level of hearing impairment. But she was gone, and despite his constant circle of friends, Steve felt very alone in dealing with what he was about to go through.

Natasha’s hand nudged at his own. _Bruce just came in_ , she told him.

Pushing aside his dark mood as best he could, Steve smiled in the direction of Bruce’s desk. “How bad is it?” he asked.

 _Not good. I’ve managed to completely rule out device failure,_ Bruce replied via Natasha’s fingers. _As I’m sure you know, you’ve already lost a significant amount of hearing in your left ear, and your right barely registered even with amplification. I know you went through extensive testing fifteen years ago when this happened before with no real discernible reason for the loss. Without further testing, I would say that this could be more of the same._

Steve’s throat was so tight that he could barely breath, let alone speak. Any brave front he’d hoped to have kept up fell away. He gave into the urge to let Natasha voice for him. _What kind of prognosis am I looking at?_

 _I wish I could give you a concrete answer. Any time line I give you is going to have a fairly large margin of error,_ Bruce advised him. Steve had been working with Bruce long enough to know even without being able to actually hear the concern in his voice, that it was there. Bruce wasn’t the kind of guy who would give false hope or overstate a problem. He was to the point and logical to a fault. That was why Steve kept coming back. But right now, Steve needed some kind of answer—even a vague one.

 _Ballpark estimate?_ Steve urged.

_At this rate, your looking at maybe a six months to a year tops. Then again, you could plateau like you did before._

Nodding, Steve prepared himself for the question he needed to ask next. _Are there any options that you’d recommend?_

Bruce took a long time answering. _I know you’ve been resistant in the past to the idea of a cochlear implant in the past, but at this point, I would say that—barring any unforeseen complications—the implant is probably the only feasible option you’ve got at this time. Of course, you’d have more testing and there would be a good deal of red tape, but with your level of hearing loss combined with your blindness, I’d say that bi-modal cochlear implants are the best option._

 _It's a lot to take in. Is there any information you could email me?_ Steve asked.

_Of course. And you can email me any questions your have or feel free to text my personal cell._

On the way out of the office, Steve clung to Natasha a little tighter than usual. He didn't trust himself right now even with his cane, not with his mind in such a complete uproar. Once he was safely in the car, he dropped his head into his hand and tried to stop his stomach from turning. Over and over, he told himself that this wasn't a surprise. And the cochlear might not be an option he was exactly thrilled with, but plenty of people he knew had them. He could get through this. He would get through this.

Natasha began to rubbing circles on his shoulder lightly, and he finally felt like he was able to breathe.

“I didn't forget to send you my grocery list again, did I?” he asked aloud, changing the subject to something safe. My God, did he need safe right now.

“ _Nope. You emailed me last night. On to the grocery store?_ ” Natasha asked.

Steve nodded. “Bad news or no, I’ve still got to eat this week.”

Thankfully, grocery shopping was every bit the distraction that Steve had hoped it would be. A trip to the grocery store was an easy thing for the average thirty-two year old man, but being deafblind certainly wasn’t the average. Not only did he have to arrange a way to get there, but once he was there it was impossible for him to navigate the every changing aisles and displays. When Clint had lived with Steve, he’d relied on his friend to take him and help with the shared chore. But he couldn’t bring himself to impose on Clint now, so he set up weekly appointments with Natasha to help him with the task.She’d worked with Steve long enough that, on top of her training, she now knew his routine and how he liked to do things. The trip may not be what most people would call “normal,” but it was as close to an independent one as he’d get. Even on Natasha’s arm, it still took a good amount of concentration on his part to make sense of his surroundings. He needed to pay attention to the sounds (what few he could hear these days) and scents to guide him to things he would otherwise be oblivious to.

As soon as the automatic doors whooshed open, the scent of peaches hit his nostrils, and he smiled. He knew the store well enough to know that the weekly produce special was always up front. Peaches hadn’t been on his list, but they smelled too good to resist. He was already imagining how good a crisp would taste at the end of his shitty day. “Are the peaches a good price?”

_A dollar-ninty-nine a pound._

Natasha led him to the stand and waited patiently for him select a few from the pile. He took his time feeling and smelling each peach before piling it carefully aside or sliding it into his bag. A few times, he was jostled lightly by other patrons, but he didn’t let them bother him too much. This was simply how he shopped. He wasn’t exactly inclined to change it anytime soon.The one great advantage of shopping with her over Clint was that while Clint had a tendency to either fidget or complain about how long it too Steve to find just the perfect fruit or veggies, Natasha would stand there all day if it was what Steve wanted or needed to do. It was one of those things that an intervenor was more likely to do than just a friend. Once his peaches were safely in the cart, they repeated the same process over a dozen more times as he marked off fresh items off his list mentally.

In comparison to produce, the rest of the store was a bit of an enigma to Steve. After years of shopping at the same store, he knew roughly where the deli, meat counter, frozen foods, and dairy sections were. The fish department, he could have easily found on his own by his nose alone—it so happened to be his least favorite spot in the store. While he might not exactly have much luck finding what he wanted in any of those sections on his own, it was the center of the store that held the most mysteries. Even if he did manage to find the cereal aisle, it was damned hard to tell a box of Cheerios from a box of Frosted Flakes. This is where having Natasha or someone else with him was absolutely a must. In each area, Natasha would make a quick list of what was on sale and remind him of what was on his list. From there, Steve would make his choices and Natasha would help him get said items into his cart. The process could be tedious, but he was used to it.

The cashier was the next hurdle. Most people could watch the screen for any misscanned items or mismarked prices. Steve had to rely on Natasha’s eyes for that. He also had to have Natasha interpret for him to the check out person and guide him to the credit card machine when the time was right. When he’d first started going to the store for himself rather than having his mother do it, he’d imagined a long line of scowling patrons behind him, but he’d long stopped caring if there was anyone behind him at all.

Like the store itself, putting away groceries was a great distraction. Back at home, Natasha and Steve carried the bags into the house. Steve made quick work of putting the produce and easily discernible items in their places while Natasha marked the boxes and cans using a braille label maker. They’d probably done this whole thing a hundred times. When they were done, Steve was keenly aware they’d completed all of the tasks he’d had scheduled for the day. He almost wished he’d needed more from the store just so he could keep going.

 _“Have plans tonight?”_ Steve asked, suddenly paying attention to the scent of the roast and vegetables that had been going in the crock-pot all day while they were gone.

 _“None that can’t be changed,”_ she replied in typical Natasha style.

His lips quirked up. Just knowing that she would give up at night with Sam doing whatever they did in their “not-a-relationship” made him feel better. He knew that not only would Sam understand, but that he’d be there in a heartbeat too if Steve asked. That knowledge made his life not seem nearly as empty as it had been sitting in Banner’s office. Still, as much as he wanted to ask her to stay, he wasn’t willing to pull her away from her night with Sam. Finally, he shook his head. _“Go on and have fun, you crazy kids,”_ he told her, finding it in him to smile and mean it.

Nat’s hand began to move under Steve’s but stopped abruptly—something that almost never happened. Natasha wasn’t the sort to get distracted. _“What is it?”_ he demanded.

 _“_ _So a firetruck just pulled into Bucky’s drive,”_ Natasha signed suddenly. “ _I heard the sirens, but I assumed they were just going by.”_

 _“Do you see anything else?”_ he asked. Under normal circumstances, Steve would have been worried about the fact that he didn’t hear the sirens the way he knew he should, but all his mind went to at that moment was Bucky. His heart was racing at the thought of what could be going on next door.

 _“It looks like Bucky’s just standing in the drive with the firefighters now. I don’t see any flames or smoke from here,”_ she assured him. _“I’ll run out and see if everything’s okay.”_

“ _I’ll come with you,_ ” Steve said, feeling his heart still somewhere in his throat. If Nat saw him in the driveway Bucky was probably fine, but he couldn’t help his desire to confirm it for himself.

Natasha and Steve waited on his front porch for a moment as the truck pulled away. _He waved to us,_ Natasha told him. It seemed that was invitation enough for them, and the pair made their way over.

 _“Sorry if I bothered you,”_ Bucky told them the minute their feet hit his drive. _“It was nothing really. I caught a kitchen towel on fire and the stupid alarm system called the fire department.”_

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Steve said. He almost felt like his body was sagging in relief.

 _“_ _How the hell did you catch a towel on fire?”_ Natasha asked with her usual candor.

 _“I set it too close to the stove after I pulled the pasta water off. I didn’t think it would go up so quick, but it did. Luckily, nothing else caught. The place smells like smoke but there is no damage,”_ he explained. ( _He’s laughing,_ Natasha added in sign for Steve.) _“I guess I should stick to frozen food and delivery. But for tonight, I will gladly take any restaurant recommendations.”_

 _“_ _Paula’s on Richmond Ave is good,”_ Natasha suggested.

 _“I’ve been there a few times, and it is good,”_ Bucky agreed.

Once again, Steve found himself thinking of the roast in his crock-pot. “You could just have dinner with me. I made enough roast to feed an army—or one veteran, if you’re interested.”

 _“_ _I don’t want to put you out,”_ Bucky said.

“You’re not,” Steve said firmly.

 _“Okay then. I’m going to go get some windows open and some box fans going so the place smells better when I’m back. Is an hour good?”_ Bucky asked.

“An hour is great. I should have everything ready. Just text me when you’re at the door.”

“ _That was almost like watching a bad high school drama,”_ Natasha signed once they were back inside. _Haha. “You two are such dorks.”_

 _“It would be unethical to tell Sam about any of this,”_ Steve grumbled.

“ _If I was still on the clock, it would be, but you’ve been on friend time for about thirty minutes now.”_

Steve groaned. “What will it cost me to buy your silence?”

 _“For starters, I want you to make those stuffed peppers again on card night,”_ she bargained.

“Done,” he agreed.

_“I said ‘for starters,’ Rogers. I will claim the rest of my debt at a future time and place.”_

“You’re an evil woman, Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha’s hand dropped from beneath his, and she cracked him on the ass hard enough to make him jump. _“Get back in the kitchen, Betty Crocker.”_

Once Natasha was gone, Steve did just that, removing the roast and veggies from the crock. He added a quick slurry to the juices left behind, testing the consistency on the back of a wooden spoon periodically as he stirred. When it finally felt thick enough, he added the rest back in.

Cooking was actually something that he was good at. His mother had all but forced him to take a cooking class for the blind when he was a teenager. He hadn’t been cooperative at first, but the sense of accomplishment he’d gotten the first time he made a full meal had been almost addictive. His senses of touch, taste and smell allowed him to create something wonderful. Even if it wasn’t a manly hobby, it was one he soon took up. These days he was a member of a cooking forum with several other blind members and regularly traded recipes online. In fact, the recipe for the peach crisp he’d been thinking of earlier had come from one of his long time internet friends. He idly wondered if Bucky liked peaches before deciding to throw caution to the wind. Making dinner and desert for the man he may or may not have a massive crush on was a bit of a risk, but it had been a strange day so why not.

He rifled through his recipe box looking for peach crisp and checked that he had all the ingredients. In no time at all, he was mixing together the topping with his hands. Setting that aside, he carefully pealed and sliced the fruit before adding cornstarch, cinnamon, and sugar. He had it all together and had just put it in the oven when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Steve checked his phone quickly, confirming that Bucky was at his front door. Giving his hair a quick feel to make sure nothing was sticking up, he shoved his timer in his pocket and headed to the door.

“I grabbed a bottle of wine. My sister bought if for me to celebrate the new house, and I don’t know if it’s any good,” Bucky announced as Steve ushered him inside. A few words slipped by him, and Steve was suddenly aware of his fading hearing once again. The fact that Bucky had actually brought wine softened the sting quite a bit, though, and Steve couldn’t help feeling a bit drunk already.

“I don’t drink much wine, so I’m not much of judge. Come in, and I’ll get us some glasses.” Steve got the stemware from the cupboard and set it out on the counter. “I’ll let you pour.”

Bucky said something that Steve didn’t catch. It was too quick and garbled. When asked to repeat it, Bucky moved a little closer and spoke a loud and clear. “I can’t open the bottle. It’s a cork.”

“Sorry. I guess, I didn’t think about that being a little harder for you,” Steve admitted, sheepishly.

“I’m glad you...” the rest of Bucky’s words were again too faded for Steve to catch.

A cold sort of reality worked through Steve’s gut. “Mind texting me again? Like we did when we first met.”

 _I’m glad you don’t think of my arm first when you think of me,_ Bucky texted a moment later.

“Your arm isn’t even in the top ten things I think of when I think of you,” Steve said softly. The island was between them, preventing Steve from reaching out and touching Bucky like he wanted to. Maybe the touch would have been the wrong, but damned if Steve didn’t want to do it.

_Thanks._

Steve wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that Bucky didn’t ask exactly what the top ten things were. He made quick work of the cork and slid the bottle back across the counter toward the other man without volunteering anything else.

Dinner was a fairly quiet affair, even by Steve’s standards. It was awkward to eat and manage the braille display. He could imagine that it was even more awkward for Bucky to text and eat—especially given that he did only have one hand to do it all with. Conversation was limited to questions and comments that were quick and easy to understand even across the table. In Steve’s mind, he had a million things to say and ask Bucky, but by the time the little timer in his pocket vibrated, he’d managed to get out exactly none of them. And he would have been sorely disappointed if he thought desert would be any different. It wasn’t until after the dishes were loaded into the washer, and they settled onto the couch that they were able to really talk.

 _Thanks for dinner. It was amazing. I really am lucky to have you as a friend,_ Bucky texted.

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck. I was having a shitty day, too. A little company was just what I needed. I should be thanking you,” Steve said bashfully.

_Anything you want to talk about?_

Steve took a long drink of his wine and shook his head. “Not at all actually. Maybe some other time?”

_Anytime._

“Can I ask you something?” Steve prompted, his lips twitching with a slightly mischievous thought.

_Go for it._

“How the hell do you mess up making pasta? Everyone can make pasta!” he cried.

Bucky’s laugh was faint to Steve’s ears, but the sound was low and pleasant. _I didn’t mess up the pasta part. That would have been mostly edible, I think. Haven’t you ever messed up in the kitchen, chef?_

“I may have melted a spatula to the burner in our apartment when I still lived with my mom,” Steve admitted. “It was a good thing I could afford the upgrade to an induction cook top when I bought this place.”

 _LOL. I feel slightly better about things now,_ Bucky texted quickly. _I take you and your mom are close?_

“We were.” Steve smiled sadly. “She died just after I moved into this place from breast cancer.”

_That must have been rough. What about your dad? Or brothers and sisters._

Steve’s smile faded when he thought of his father. “I’m an only child, and my dad was never in the picture. It’s just me now. But I have great friends. I’m not too much of a hermit.”

_I didn’t think you were. I’m the hermit._

“What about you? I know you mentioned at least one sister.”

_One sister is more than enough! Becky and I are pretty close. She lives just on the other side of D.C. with her husband and two kids. My mom still lives back home in Brooklyn, but we talk on the phone every other day or so. Dad died when I was eleven. So there is the Barnes family in a nutshell._

Steve grinned and finished the wine in his glass. “Your sister picked a good wine, though.”

 _Want more?_ Bucky asked.

“Deafblind and drunk is a bad combination,” Steve chuckled.

_Can’t be too much worse than brain damaged, on anti-depressants and drunk._

Steve frowned. “I haven’t asked about your injuries, but I’m guessing it just wasn’t your arm.”

 _It wasn’t._ The reply was short and instantly made Steve regret bringing it up at all.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

_No. You’re my friend. Friends should be allowed to ask about the touchy stuff every now and again. It just might take me a while to type it. Okay?_

Nodding, Steve reached out and touched Bucky’s knee. “Take as long as you need. After all, I’m the reason you’re typing it out anyway.”

As Bucky predicted, it did take a while before the first text came through. Steve’s stomach was already knotted, but what he read only made it worse.

_We were on a routine patrol in a humvee when an IED was tossed in. I don’t actually remember anything about that day, but I know the basics. Of the four guys inside, I was the only one who even made it to medical evac. When the explosion went off, I was tossed about fifty feet from the rest of the vehicle. I hit my head off of something on the way down and landed under a burning piece of wreckage. I don’t remember much of anything the weeks leading up to the attack or even anything until about a month after. I woke up in Walter Reed in Bethesda with a fractured skull, three broken ribs, and third degree burns over my chest, back and neck on the left side. My arm was already off by then. I guess it was too badly burned to save. Anyway, after I woke up, it took me a long time to be able to talk or do much of anything. The drugs didn’t exactly help the brain injury. My mom told me the doctors told her to keep her expectations pretty low for me before I woke up, so I guess waking up as more than a vegetable was quite a feat._

_Rehab was a bitch, but I did it._ _I tried to use a prosthetic, but between how little of my arm is still there and the scar tissue, it didn’t work out. The good news is that I put all my energy into other parts of my recovery. I can do mostly anything one handed now besides cook and put my hair up. My speech is almost back to normal. I just stutter when I get really tired or when I’m frustrated. And my memory is a bit hazy at times, but again, it’s a million times better than before. Really it all could have been a lot worse. I survived._

By the time he’d finished reading it all, Steve wasn’t exactly sure what to say. He held out his hand, not quite sure if Bucky would take it. When long, strong fingers entwined with his own, Steve tightened his grip. “I’m glad you survived, Buck. What you went through...fuck, I can’t imagine… but you survived. I’m so happy you’re here and that I got to meet you.”

“I’m starting to be happy about it, too,” Bucky said, leaning in.

Maybe it was the wine that he’d drunk that night, but Steve did something he really didn’t think he had the courage to do; he pulled Bucky against him into a tight hug. Bucky’s body felt warm and strong against his own, but for a moment it was completely still. Steve was about to let go when he felt Bucky’s arm wrap around his waist. They stayed like that for a long time until Bucky began to move. Steve thought he was about to break the embrace but then something else happened. Something wonderful.

Bucky’s mouth was suddenly against Steve’s. Steve was instantly lost in the kiss. Kissing Bucky was a million sensations at once. His lips tasted like peaches and wine and something else entirely as the moved across Steve’s own. Beneath the slight lingering scent of smoke was that strawberry shampoo and astringent cologne that Steve had been dreaming about when he thought of Bucky. His cheeks felt slightly rough. And god, the feel of those lips! Those lips moved perfectly. They were firm yet soft, so utterly inviting. Steve couldn’t help running his tongue across them lightly. When the kiss broke, both men were gasping for breath.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Bucky rasped into Steve’s good ear.

“Yes, you should have,” Steve countered stubbornly.

“No, I really shouldn’t have. But sweet christ did I want to.” Bucky pulled further away. “I’m not up to it now, but can we talk later? Maybe get coffee after I get off work?”

Thankfully, Steve managed to catch the bulk of that. He didn’t want to talk later. He wanted to drag Bucky upstairs and fuck him senseless. He wanted to touch the muscles he felt moving beneath Bucky’s thin shirt. He wanted to taste every inch his skin. Steve wanted things that obviously weren’t in the cards for that night. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. He nodded dejectedly. “Coffee tomorrow then.”


	7. Chapter 7

_He was going to burn to death._ That was the thought that ran on repeat through Bucky’s mind as his gasped for breath. His eyes were open, but the acrid smell of smoke was in his nose. Pulling his knees to his chest, Bucky rested his head on top of them, trying desperately to focus on what was real. He was in his bed in Maryland, not Afghanistan. There was no danger. There was no smoke. But the smoke smelled so real that it nearly overrode everything else. It was only as he pushed himself to think back through the last hours that he realized that only two of his “real” things were true. He remembered the small fire from that evening. The scent permeating his breaths wasn’t that of burning wreckage or flesh, just one fucking kitchen towel.

Exhausted from the effort it took to piece it all together, Bucky let himself flop back on the bed. His head hurt, and his left hand was aching—both common after an “incident”. Nightmares had been a continuing problem for him since waking up injured. He may not actually remember what happened that day, but his brain had no problem trying to fill in that gap with fucked up scenarios that seemed too real to dismiss. Most of them, like the one that night, centered around burning alive, so of course his stupid ass filled his house with smoke trying to cook. He laid in bed trying to force himself to block out the scent, but he already knew it was a lost cause. After a few minutes of lying beneath the sweat soaked sheets, he gave up.

Tossing a few things into his bag, Bucky headed to the only place he could think of to go. Sam had give him a key to the gym a few days after he started and told him he was free to use the gym before open if he felt more comfortable working out during off hours. Bucky had taken him up on the offer twice now, but both times had been maybe an hour before the gym opened at six. This time, he was heading in just after two. It almost felt like he was taking advantage of Sam’s kindness, but the reality was he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. The funny thing about that was that, despite his initial nervousness about the gym, it was slowly becoming one of the safest places he could think of.

Bucky had been less than optimistic about his chances of working out as the receptionist at the Redwing Gym when he started. He kept picturing pretty, perfect people walking through the doors and gaping at him like some sort of circus freak. Everyday life places were one thing, gyms, in his experience, were another. Gyms were where people went to make themselves look as good as humanly possible. He’d always been on the receiving end of envious glances and on the giving end of looks of disgust or judgment. Though he wasn’t proud of the way he’d acted in that regard, he knew that it was a reality for a lot of people who had just been born good looking and worked to take that to the next level. He couldn’t see people like that walking through the gym doors and having anything other than pity or disgust in their eyes for him. Sam’s good intentions of a judgment-free gym were just a pipe dream, he thought. And then he started actually working there...

He doubted a handful of people gave him more than just a second glance on their way in. Those that did were more curious about the new face in the gym than the fact that said face was connected to a three-limbed body. In fact, the only person who out and out commented on Bucky’s arm was a guy who came in wearing a t-shirt reading “combat modified” with a hook style prostheticwhere his right hand should have been. He’d grinned at Bucky on his way through and merely said: “we should split a pair of lifting gloves next time.” Little by little, Bucky had come to realize that even in a place that he assumed would be caught up with physical perfection, the only one who gave a damn about his flaws was himself. The realization had been liberating, and he now actually enjoyed coming into work.

That particular morning, though, he would have much rather been snoring between the sheets. Even though his mind was a whirlwind, his body felt sluggish. He pulled out his phone and bluetooth speaker, setting it to his favorite Pandora station, before starting one of the treadmills on a low speed. Jogging lightly Bucky tried his best to maintain his balance the way they’d worked on in PT. It really was amazing how the lack of an arm could throw a person’s natural gate off. He probably looked looked like an idiot with one arm swinging along as he moved at a little more than a mall-walker’s speed, but he soon felt like blood was at least flowing to his muscles. After about half an hour on the treadmill, Bucky was trying to force his brain to think back to what day in his rotation he was with lifting. He gave up with a groan and decided to call it leg day.

Just when he had started his second rep on the leg press machine, Bucky spotted movement from the corner of his eye. His still paranoid brain snapped into action, and he was out of the seat in a split-second, ready for just about anything. Sam approached him lazily with an exhausted smile on his lips. “For future reference, I get phone calls from the alarm company if any code but mine opens the gym at off hours,” he said lightly. Tired as he was, he didn’t sound angry—which was surprising.

Bucky felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders release, but not much. He was still wound so tight that he had a hard time getting his tongue to form the words that his brain wanted to get out. “S...s...sorry for c...coming in so early,” he managed to grind out, hating himself for the stammer.

Sam shrugged. “Rough night?”

“M...m...maybe,” Bucky answered. He pretended to be preoccupied with the towel in his grasp. Sam hadn’t out and out said that he had PTSD, too, but he’d implied it more than once. Still, actually admitting that a bad dream had sent him running out of his bed was a bit embarrassing.

“Been there once or twice,” Sam said, straddling the seat of the machine next to Bucky. “I had a lot of late night workouts after I saw my best friend’s plane go down in flames. They might have been the only way I held my shit together through the last year of my service.”

Bucky nodded. “Set a fucking t...towel on fire, and the smoke r...reminded me of… well, it reminded me of shit I want to forget.”

“So what were you gonna do after you wore your ass out?” Sam asked softly. “I doubt you had it in you to keep going until your shift started and then make it through the day.”

“I didn’t think that far in advance,” Bucky admitted. The more relaxed he got the less trouble he had forming sentences. “I probably would have tried to sleep again at home…probably failed at it.”

“That’s it, dude,” Sam said firmly. He pointed to Bucky’s bag. “Get your shit. You’re gonna crash in my guest room tonight. Tomorrow, you are going to take a day off and do whatever it is you need to do.”

Bucky would have argued, but the way Sam had his arms crossed over his chest left little doubt that Bucky would have lost that argument. Reluctantly, he gathered his stuff up and followed Sam out to where he was parked. They drove in silence for a few minutes to the edge of town where a neat apartment and townhouse complex lay.

Sam’s condo was on the smaller side, but stylish and clean. Bucky noted a section of family photos lining one wall—most showcasing an older woman and man who Bucky guessed were Sam’s parents—and a younger woman and man who resembled Sam enough that there was little doubt they were his siblings. An obviously new photo hung towards the top of an infant with a blue cap on his head.

“Your nephew?” Bucky asked.

Sam’s grin was a million watt bright. “James Wilson Casper. You’ve gotta admit, Barnes, that is one good lookin’ kid.”

“He is,” Bucky lied. In all honesty, the kid looked kind of squishy, but he wasn’t about to say that. “But I think it comes from your sister. He’s way better looking than you are.”

Sam shook his head and led Bucky back the hall to a small guestroom. When he was alone, Bucky eyed the bed dubiously, not thinking he’d be able to sleep, but he stripped down to his boxers and laid down anyway. He remembered thinking how comfortable the bed felt beneath him just before his mind drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Bucky woke some hours later, blinking his eyes at the sun that filtered through the blinds. He was groggy, but he still remembered where he was almost instantly. Eying the clock on the wall, he noticed it was nearly eight—two hours after his shift was supposed to have started. If Sam hadn’t been so adamant about him taking the day off, Bucky would have set his alarm. Still, he had to admit that the extra hours of sleep felt good.

He was halfway through tossing on his shirt when a sound froze him stiff. From the other side of the wall, Bucky could hear a laugh and murmur from a husky but distinctly feminine voice. Sam’s deeper tones replied a bit too low for Bucky to make out, but it was damn clear they were having at least a little fun in there. Not only did it instantly make Bucky a little embarrassed to have crashed what was more than likely Sam’s booty call. He heard the door open and footsteps go down the hall before he finished pulling on his clothes and dared to pop his head out. Just as he edged out of the doorway, he saw the Natasha stepping out into hall at the same time.

Dressed in leggings and a Redwing Gym shirt that practically swallowed her, she looked more disheveled than he saw here either with Steve or at the gym. She didn’t seem bothered though, as she pulled her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. “Morning, Barnes,” she murmured with a yawn.

“Morning,” he replied a little awkwardly.

He watched her duck into the bathroom before heading out to the kitchen. Sam looked up from the eggs that he was whisking in a bowl. The grin on his face didn’t give away the fact that he’d probably had about the same amount of sleep as Bucky did, and he instantly envies that fact. “I was wondering if you’d sleep in,” Sam mused, setting the bowl aside and flipping strips of bacon in a frying pan. “Spinach omelets and turkey bacon comin’ up if you’re interested.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky muttered. “And thanks… for breakfast and last night.”

“What are friends for?” Sam replied with a shrug. He poured eggs into another skillet and let them set.

“Speaking of friends,” Bucky began with a bit of a smirk. “so...Steve’s interpreter?”

Sam grinned. “Intervenor—different focus,” he corrected. “And it’s a bit complicated, but not exactly a secret.”

“Well, I didn’t know.”

“Well, you’re also a dumbass,” Sam drawled with a laugh as he added cheese and spinach to the eggs before giving them a flip.

Natasha appeared just as the omelets hit the plates. She made a face at the slice of turkey bacon Sam held out for her and made a bee-line to the coffee pot. “Gross.”  
“I just don’t understand what you have against breakfast,” Sam teased.

“Make real bacon, and we’ll talk,” she shot back. She turned to Bucky without much of an expression on her face, making him feel kind of like a bug in a jar. “I’ve got a client in town today. I can drop you off at your car, if you want.”

Bucky was still chewing a piece of bland turkey bacon but bobbed his head. “Thanks,” he said as soon as he swallowed.

The ride back to his car is so uncomfortable that Bucky thought about asking to be dropped off half way there so he could walk. He couldn’t tell if Natasha hated him or not, but it was more than that. Every now and again he’d catch her giving him strange looks from the corners of her eyes. On one hand, he wanted to chalk it up to being angry about him interrupting her night with Sam, but his gut told him it was something else.

“I really appreciate the ride,” he murmured to fill the silence.

She gave him a quick look at the stop light. “It’s not a problem. I’m going this way anyway...”

“Must be an interesting job,” Bucky said, trying to start an actual conversation.

Natasha simply shrugged at that. “How was dinner?”

“Good...great. Steve’s a really good cook,” Bucky replied. He ducked his head and pretended to find the park they were passing interesting.

“He is.” Natasha gave him one last unreadable look before falling silent for the rest of the trip.

He was thankful when his car came into view and even more thankful twenty minutes later when he closed his front door behind him. Despite the few hours of deep sleep he’d gotten at Sam’s, he felt fucking exhausted. If he’d learned anything from his previous bouts with PTSD induced nightmares, it was that the tole they took was both physical and mental. Pushing himself to bounce back into a good mood or even into a functioning one was asking a lot. He couldn’t help but be glad that Sam had given him the day off. With little else to do, he kicked off his shoes in the hall haphazardly and launched himself onto the couch. He pulled out his phone and left a quick message on Dr. Hill’s after hours line before pulling a heavy blanket over himself and falling into a deep sleep.

The sound of his phone chirping beside his head woke him sometime later. He squinted at the afternoon sunlight streaming in his windows and groped blindly for the phone on the end table without fully extracting himself from the covers. “Hello,” he said, not even bothering to check who was calling before he answered.

“Bucky?” the familiar voice of Dr. Hill inquired from the other end of the line.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Just woke up.”

“That’s all right. You don’t sound like you’re in the best place right now,” she told him. Her even, honest voice always made him feel equal parts exposed and relieved. Now was no exception.

“I’ve been better. I’ve been worse, but I’ve certainly been better,” he confessed.

She let out a hum on the line. “I guessed that would be your answer. Are you working today or do you have school?”

“Neither.”

“Are you able to come in around two?” she asked. “I usually keep a free slot a few times a week for occasions like this.”

Bucky let out a dark chuckle. “So I picked a good day to fall to shit?”

“I would have worked you in one way or another,” she assured him before letting out a breathy laugh of her own. “That said, you did time your problems conveniently enough for my schedule. I’ll have Brenda put you in the book for a full hour. We can take our time today.”

“Thanks,” he said.

After hanging up, he glanced at the clock and saw that it was just a little afternoon. He had time to grab a quick shower and shove a quick bite to eat down his throat.

Despite the niggling annoyance at himself for needing the session at all, he was ridiculously relieved that Dr. Hill had managed to get him in. Realizing he needed help had been one of the hardest things to accept about his new reality since the war. He couldn’t say that he felt great about needing an extra session so soon after being able to drop down from his weekly visits, but just like the physical therapy he needed to get his body functioning again, the time spent with Dr. Hill was another step to getting back to something like the life he’d had before. For a while, he’d tried to dig his heels in and not take his depression meds or go to the therapist. It wasn’t a particularly proud moment of his, but he’d gotten damn low after come to the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to use a prosthetic the way he’d hoped. He’d gone back to his WTU apartment and promptly downed half a bottle of the pain pills he’d been given. Thankfully, he’d been found by his roommate before he completely checked out. That little stunt had earned him suicide watch and a stint on a psych floor. There, he’d been all but forced to start facing the truth that his body wasn’t the only thing that came home fucked.

Dr. Hill’s office was a bit closer than Bethesda. Tucked in a neat little office complex between a dentist and a chiropractor, the place felt a hell of a lot less clinical than the VA did. Before starting down this road, Bucky had assumed that therapists were kind of all the same—that they’d all have the same stock advice and answers. He learned pretty quickly that wasn’t the case. The first guy he’d seen had been too encouraging about every little thing that Bucky did. It had felt like he was just showing up so that the doctor could pat him on the head like a dog. Three doctors later, Bucky got a referral to Dr. Hill. She was the perfect balance of tough love and reassurance that he needed, and he didn’t mind the extra bit of a drive that it took to get there.

The receptionist gave Bucky a smile as he signed in at the desk, before taking a seat. His ass barely hit the vinyl before Dr. Hill ducked her head out into the waiting room and waved him back. She was a beautiful woman in a stern, buttoned up sort of way. Her eyes were compassionate, but everything from the click of her heels to the way she tucked her hair into a tight knot put out a warning. She led Bucky down a familiar hall and to her office.

He slid into a comfortable, slate blue arm chair as she took her place behind her desk. She slid on a pair of glasses and pulled out his file. “Why don’t we start where we left off last? Things were going well.”

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Bucky started with the kitchen towel and didn’t leave anything out. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the fucking towel bursting into flames on his cook top as he drained the pasta. He’d been so stunned at first that he simply stared at it like a fucking moron. By the time he got his brain to move enough to get his ass into action, his kitchen had been filled with smoke and the smell of melting plastic fabric. Then the worst part came as after he doused the flames in the sink. He stood there staring at the melted and burned towel remembering that his flesh hadn’t probably looked too much better in the beginning. His skin and muscle had been charred beyond recognition—he knew that much for a fact. The doctors had explained what fourth degree burns were to him and just how deep down the damage had been when they’d tried to tell him why saving his arm had been impossible. Thinking about that had led to Bucky thinking about all the agony that followed—infections and skin grafts, the tightening feeling of his body trying to heal over places that had been ravaged. He’d still been lost in that thought when he’d heard the fire trucks coming. God, he’d felt so fucking helpless and stupid right then. How the fuck had a minor ass, every day task ended with him shaking at the sink and the fire trucks rolling by? His stomach felt sick just thinking about it.

And then Steve… Bucky had felt like such a piece of shit when he saw Steve out on his front porch, following closely at Natasha’s side as he made his way over. He’d looked so damned worried. Those sunglasses of his did nothing to camouflage the nervousness or the relief that sagged through him when Natasha’s fingers confirmed that everything was okay. Steve shouldn’t care like that. Bucky wasn’t worth it. Steve had his life and his shit together. He shouldn’t waste his time on what happened to his dumb ass of a neighbor. Just as the words were out of his mouth, Bucky realized that as usual, he’d been talking aloud the whole damn time with no filter.

“Why shouldn’t Steve care? Having your shit together isn’t always a hallmark of being a good person, and it certainly isn’t a prerequisite for deserving care or affection,” Dr. Hill said, jotting a note down in his file. “Do you remember back in one of our earlier sessions when we talked about how the lens we view ourselves through and the lens that other people see us through are very different?”

Bucky nodded. “But all Steve knows me as is this.” He gestured to his whole body in frustration.

“And you aren’t any less than you were before. Different, but not less. Other people can accept faults and changes in us easier because they aren’t living with them they way we do.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Do you think that once you let Steve know exactly what you’re struggling with that it would change his perception of you?”

“No,” he said, picturing the compassion on Steve’s face when Bucky had told him about what had happened to him. “He’d probably tie himself in knots to make things as easy on me as possible. Even if he didn’t have a disability of his own, I think he’s just that kind of person. But I don’t want to feel like… like...” He searched for a word to describe it. Finally, he settled on the one that felt the closest. “I don’t want to feel like my shit is one more burden on him. I don’t want to _be_ a burden.”

“Feeling like a burden is never something that anyone wants. The important part is that the two of you talk about it. If you want to make a relationship work, you are going to have to explain what you are expecting from your partner, and those expectations aren’t set in stone. They’re something you will need to rehash over and over as your emotional needs to change. It’s going to be work for both of you, but that doesn’t make you or your needs a burden,” Dr. Hill said firmly. “Let me ask you this; you said that he’s deafblind?” Bucky urged her on with a nod. “That has to effect communication between you, and I’m sure that there will be times he’ll need to ask you for help? Is he a burden because he has those needs?”

“Fuck! Of course, not! He can’t help being who he is, and he’s able to do so much on his own that it makes my head spin. Steve is not a fucking burden,” Bucky declared vehemently.

With an amused grin, Dr. Hill leaned back in her chair and gave him a look.

“But we’re talking about two different scenarios here,” he grumbled.

“We are. But what makes his needs valid and not yours?” she asked softly.

Bucky didn’t have an answer. He rested his elbow on his knee and cradled his head. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You might not be. I don’t have a sure-fire litmus test for that. I can’t tell you that you are or are not ready for a relationship right now in your life, Bucky. Everyone is different. I’ve had patients who were feeling good enough to hit the dating scene six months after deployment and others who five years later are just setting up a tinder account. You are the one living your life. It’s your call how much of a risk you want to take.” Dr. Hill closed his folder and set it aside.

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

She nodded. “And that’s okay. Set a pace that you are comfortable with. Talk to him and let him know exactly what you’re feeling. You owe yourself and Steve that.”

On his way home, Bucky rolled Dr. Hill’s words around in his head like a ball. Her advice was so simple on the surface. Part of him realized that he had a right to set boundaries and ask for things in a relationship, but it felt all wrong. He was a grown ass man. He shouldn’t have to tell all of his future partners “by the way, I may wake up screaming and shaking from time to time” or “hey, how about we just stay in today because the thought of someone looking at me right now makes me want to fall apart”. It seemed like such a bullshit way to go into a relationship. The thought of typing all of it out on his phone while Steve sat there right in front of him made him want to punch something. Then an idea hit him as he passed a Starbucks sign.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to go back and change a few formatting things today. From here on out speech and combined speech and sign will be in quotations, sign will be in italics and text based communications will be in bold.

Steve drank his coffee leaning on the breakfast bar as he tried to lay out his day in front of him. Most teachers and administrators lived for summers, but they only made Steve feel restless. Without the constant chaos that having hundreds of students to worry about on a daily basis, he often fell into a bit of a funk if he let himself. To combat that, he usually read books by the dozens on topics ranging from education and developmental psych to the latest fantasy and sci-fi titles from his favorite authors, but he’d finished the last title on his to read list and didn’t feel like searching for more. As usual, his house was beyond spotless—so no distraction there either. Natasha wasn’t scheduled for another day until next week, so errands were also out. Scratching at the bottom of his brain for something... _anything_ to keep his mind off of Bucky, the only thing he could come up with was the backlog of personal emails sitting in his inbox. It wasn’t a task he enjoyed, but it would take up a few hours if nothing else.

He settled into his home office in the basement with a fresh cup of coffee and a sense of resignation. There were at least two or three emails in there that he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to answering so he stuck to the easy stuff first. He filtered through junk mail and advertisements, ignoring nearly all of them. Next were the newsletters that he’d signed up for—those at least ate up enough time that he almost felt contented. Steve worked one by one until the only two things left were the information that Bruce had sent him yesterday afternoon and an email from Scott. Weighing the discomfort he had with each, he chose to read Scott’s first.

Scott and Steve’s relationship had ended amicably. Scott didn’t blame Steve for backing out of the plan to move to California. He’d been understanding of just how much he was asking of Steve—giving up a home he was comfortable in, a job he’d excelled at, and a circle of friends that made him happy. By that same token, Steve never once considered that Scott would be able to leave his daughter to move across the country. It had been too much to give up for a relationship that had never really made it past the comfortable stage. They’d both been honest about where things were heading in the end. Neither of them resented how things ended. Steve still considered Scott a close friend in affection, if not in distance. He’d visited twice in the last year since things ended—once on his own and once with Cassie. Normally, he even looked forward to these emails. Mostly, Scott talked about the books that he was reading or told him tales of his Saturday night role playing guild. This one was different though… Scott had told Steve that he was planning on asking his girlfriend, Hope to marry him. Just as Steve suspected, Hope had said yes and Scott was over the moon. Steve tried to be happy for his friend and former lover, but all that he felt at that precise moment was loneliness. Pecking out a quick reply, Steve gave all of the usual congratulations and lied through his teeth, saying that he would be looking for his wedding invitation in the mail.

Steve took a deep breath and rubbed his palms over his eyes lightly. His mother used to say, “when it rains it pours,” and Steve felt like he’d locked himself out of the house without an umbrella in the storm. With a heavy sigh, he decided to keep the bad news train coming and opened up the email from Bruce.

Cochlear implants weren’t a topic that Steve was wholly ignorant about. Between his own personal experiences and his students, he’d researched them a fair bit—not as much as he perhaps should have, but enough that he didn’t have too many surprises lurking in the attached information. Back when he’d started losing his hearing as a teenager, his mother had brought him to one of the “best” experts on the east coast.

Steve could still remember the lingering hope that somehow things would miraculously clear up on their own. He’d wake up and his hearing would be what it had always been, pretty terrible by most people’s standards, but enough that he could make due with mostly verbal communication. By that time, he had lost so much hearing in his right ear that his over the ear hearing aid was all but useless and his left wasn’t too far behind. Steve had never known panic like that before. He’d always been termed “deafblind,” but individually speaking, his hearing loss placed him more towards hard of hearing than truly deaf. If he’d had his sight, he probably would have been able to pass for mostly hearing, between speech reading and what hearing he did have. But Steve didn’t have his sight. Speech reading was forever out of his grasp, and if he continued to lose his hearing as he was at the time, he’d be even more cut off from the world than he already felt he was. Thankfully, his mother was right there beside him through the whole thing. When Steve panicked, she was there holding his hand, telling him in both voice and sign that she would always be there for him.

She’d been there when the specialist laid bare for him what his future probably was going to look like. Unlike Bruce, the man he’d seen back then didn’t bother to be conservative with his estimates of how long Steve would be able to keep his residual hearing. He’d flatly given Steve six months before he was profoundly deaf or not far from it. The grief that Steve had felt didn’t stop the onslaught of bad news either. Then they were told was that the only viable option for him was the cochlear implant, which would destroy what natural hearing Steve had left and require a long term adjustment period. All Steve could think at that point was that he didn’t want the damn thing. He didn’t want to hear robotized voices; he he wanted to hear real voices. The whole thing just made him feel like a lab rat that no one gave a shit about. It was the first time in Steve’s life where he truly hated himself for being born who he was. But his mother did care! She pretty much sent the specialist packing the instant he stopped treating Steve like a person rather than just a disability. From there, they found another audiologist who was more than willing to try different methods beside the cochlear until they no longer had options. The best option for Steve had ended up being a bone anchored hearing system. It didn’t take him back to where he had been previously, but it allowed him to use his own natural hearing without a major adjustment. After that, his hearing loss seemed to stop progressing as suddenly as it had started.

But of course, it was now back again.

The options that had once given him hope of avoiding the cochlear were dwindling. Steve knew that countless people had cochlear implants. Hell, he knew probably a dozen that he could think of off hand. Two of the ones that came to mind were also deafblind. People did just fine with them for the most part. He knew that some liked them better than others. He knew some people relied on them constantly and others pretty much just used them for music, some had gotten them as children and others got them as adults. Still, no matter what he knew about the implant logically, he couldn’t erase the anxiety of losing his natural hearing. He couldn’t talk himself out of being afraid. After reading the full packet, he felt more resigned than reassured. He fired off a quick email to Bruce saying that he would need to set up another appointment to go over things. Steve couldn’t bring himself to out and out commit to having the procedure just yet.

Feeling drained, Steve did something he almost never did; he took a nap. Buried beneath a pile of soft blankets on his couch, he let his mind drift off and fell asleep. When he woke a few hours later, his mood had marginally improved. His stomach was growling with a vengeance, reminding him that he’d probably slept through lunch. He reached for his phone to check the time and noticed he’d missed a message from Bucky.

**Hey, I know I said I would be over later today, and I still will be. I just was wondering if you’d mind if I sent you an email first. There is a lot of shit I need to get off my chest, and it’s easier to type on my computer.**

Steve frowned. He wondered if a large part of that shit was the ever popular “it’s not you, it’s me” spiel. Then again, he’d been jumping to conclusions since he met Bucky and most of them had been wrong. Bucky was so different from most of the people that Steve knew that it was hard to get a handle on him. It was impossible not to see the brick wall that the veteran had erected around himself, and almost as impossible to get through it. Still, there was something about Bucky that made Steve want to wrap him up and protect him. Shaking off the thought, Steve sent Bucky his email and tried his best not to wait on tenterhooks for his phone to buzz with an email alert.

His phone went off before Steve could even choke down a sandwich, and it took everything in him not to toss the other half in the trash and race to check his email. He hadn’t felt this anxious about another person since high school, but at over thirty, he needed to have some self control. Managing to swallow the entire second half of his sandwich in three bites, he patted himself on the back for not completely disgracing himself.

**Dear Steve,**

**Let me preface this by saying I know how juvenile it is to write a fucking letter about your feelings, but I’m not great at dealing with things these days, so please bear with me.**

**My mind keeps going to the thought that things would have been very different if I’d met you before I got hurt. I would have taken one look at you and decided that I had to have you. What’s more, I wouldn’t doubt for a second that I could have you. Maybe that’s arrogant, but I was arrogant as fuck before all of this. I would have put every ounce of charm I had into getting you into the sack. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to be nervous, but now, I’m scared shitless. I look at you and I want more than just one night. You’re something special, and you make me want to do this right. Part of the problem is that** **I don’t have a hell of a lot of experience with anyone that I’ve wanted more than a casual fuck** **from** **. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a relationship was a two year stint of non-monogamous hook ups with an officer in another unit. It didn’t exactly end well after I got hurt, and after that there’s been nothing. I didn’t want to involve anyone in my messes, and I don’t think I could have dealt with being there for anyone even if I did want to be with someone.**

**I know I told you about how I got my physical injuries last night and what most of them are, but I think it’s only fair that you know that those aren’t even the tip of the iceberg. My body is fucked, and it looks damn good in comparison to how my mind is most days. I’ve got PTSD, short term memory problems, and occasional bouts with severe stuttering. On paper it doesn’t sound bad, but in reality, it’s a lot to fucking deal with. I jump at loud sounds and have night terrors that I wake up screaming from. My anxiety in crowds is so bad that I sometimes have to lock myself in the restroom stall until I can get my heart to stop beating through my chest. I have to set reminders for everything because I never know when my short term memory is going to shit out and I will leave something on the stove when I go to class or forget my meds. I forget names of people I meet almost instantly if I don’t run through them in my head at least a dozen times while I stare at them. To top it off, whenever all of this is crashing down on me I pretty much lose my ability to form words that aren’t fragmented to shit.** **It’s not just my arm that I have to contend with on a daily basis. I wish it was.**

**Even worse, I know that if you and I were to ever try to make something work, that you would have to deal with this shit, too. You would get to see me at my worst, and I don’t think you know how bad that actually is. The last thing I would ever want to do is drag you down with me. I keep thinking how you have your shit together, and that I have absolutely no right to mess with that. I know on some level that everyone has their own baggage to bring into a relationship. I know that there are things I would have to learn about being with someone who’s deafblind, and that doesn’t scare me. It’s more that I don’t want to add my mess to the list of stuff you have to deal with. And before you tell me that you are an adult and can make your own choices, let me just say that I know that. That’s exactly why I’m writing this. I want you to know exactly what you are going to have to deal with if you want to even try to be with me.**

**I know there is a lot more to say and talk about. I hope that you’ll still want to talk to me later today, but if you don’t, I understand. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to go through with this. If we can still be friends, I would like that.**

**Bucky**

Steve’s hands were shaking as he read the end of the email. Jesus, he had known that Bucky wasn’t feeling exactly confident, but this… Well, he was taken aback by just how much credit he seemed to be giving Steve and how little he gave himself. Did he really think that Steve wasn’t scared shitless too? That Steve didn’t live with a fear deep down in his gut that someday Bucky look at all of the shit that came along with being with a deafblind person and realize that it wasn’t worth the hassle? Jesus, Steve was scared too, but his fear didn’t out weigh his desire to explore whatever it was between them.

 **I really want you to come by to talk. You’re not the only one who gets nervous about putting their stuff out there for someone else to see,** Steve texted.

Bucky’s reply was almost instant. **What time should I come over?**

**Anytime. Now if you’re free.**

**I’ll be right over.**

Steve stood out on his porch not bothering to wait for Bucky to text him that he was there. He didn’t care if that looked desperate at the moment. He knew exactly one thing that he needed to do for certain. The second he felt Bucky’s footfalls on the floor boards he held his arms open wide. For a split second, he worried that Bucky wouldn’t be appreciative of the gesture, but then his arms were suddenly full. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist and buried his head in Steve’s shoulder, taking a long shuddering breath. They stayed like that for a long time.

“So what now?” Bucky asked.

Steve smiled. “We go inside and curl up on my couch for a bit. We can talk now or wait a while if you want.”

“Can we get the talking bit over with?” Bucky asked with a chuckle that shook his chest. “I’ve had a long day of talking about my shit and I just want to get it out.”

Nodding, Steve took a step back and let Bucky push by him. His arms felt empty without Bucky in them, but he knew it was probably best to sit down and talk things over before things escalated. He took a seat on the couch and waited for Bucky to join him. When Bucky sat close enough that their thighs brushed, Steve couldn’t help but grin.

 **So** **I am guessing this means you’re not heading for the hills?** Bucky asked over text.

Steve shook his head. “Not even close. Actually, I’m really glad you felt comfortable enough to talk to me. I know that can’t be easy. Sometimes, it’s still hard for me to let people know what I need, and I’ve had a lifetime of dealing with it. I just wish you’d give yourself a little bit of credit.”

**Credit for what?**

“For picking yourself up and moving forward. For pushing yourself to put a life together after the one you knew was taken. I can’t imagine all of the ways your life changed. You are so much stronger than you know,” Steve said, squeezing Bucky’s knee.

Bucky took a long time before sending a text response. **How are you such a good person? And how do you know just what I need to hear?**

“I’m not that good of a person,” Steve replied flatly. “Ask Sam. He’ll tell you what a stubborn selfish shit I can be. And as far as knowing what you need to hear, I think you just need to hear the truth.”

**Sam’s full of shit.**

“Most of the time.” Steve chuckled before sobering. “In all seriousness, though, I think you’ve you laid your cards out on the table so I should, too.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky said aloud, leaning in towards Steve and weaving his fingers through Steve’s.

“Being with me isn’t always going to be easy,” Steve began. “There are a lot of things that I need help with. Going out in public can sometimes be tricky. In a lot of situations, I’m going to need you to be my eyes and ears… and not just for the basic easy stuff. I have no idea half the time, even when I can hear conversations going on around me, who is talking to who or what they may or may not have gestured, too. Transportation can be an issue because I have a hard time knowing when to get on or off public transit and getting a ride with a friend isn’t always convenient. You’ll have to lead me places and let me know about obstacles. On top of that, I’m not the best date for a movie or a lot of other typical date things, so I can be a bit boring to be with. I know it’s a lot to deal with. I won’t be angry if it gets to be too much, but you’ve got to be honest with me about when it’s getting overwhelming for you.”

Bucky moved to release his hand, but Steve stopped him. He knew that Bucky may have to repeat things for him, but he wanted the contact between them more than anything. “We can manage for a bit if you don’t mind staying close.”

“I like being close to you,” Bucky said. His breath tickled Steve’s neck, sending a current through his whole body. “I guess the moral of the story is that neither of us are exactly easy to be with. I know it’s embarrassing, but I talked about you with my therapist today.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about that,” Steve assured him.

“She said that we need to be upfront about our needs with each other. I guess what I want to know is if you are okay with taking this slow and seeing where this leads?”

“Lucky for you, deafblind guys excel at moving slow,” Steve teased. “Would it be too fast if I kissed you?”

Without a verbal answer, Steve found Bucky’s lips thrust upon his own. The kiss was deep and leisurely and so fucking perfect. When it was over, they rested their foreheads together, and Steve wound his fingers through Bucky’s hair. He let out a laugh. “So I guess I’m finding out what one-armed guys are good at.”

Bucky joined in on the good humor. “Just don’t ask me to put my hair up.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky started the video over again sighed heavily. The gym had been pretty slow all morning after the initial rush of early birds. He couldn’t say that he minded, though. It gave him time to rewatch the same video demonstration of the deafblind manual alphabet for the hundredth time and get it wrong every fucking time he thought he had it. Of course, he hadn’t figured that learning it would be easy, but he’d figured he’d at least catch on to _something._ His sort term memory problems seemed to rear their ugly head the more he tried to remember the sequence of the motions along with the letters, and to make matters worse, the instructor recommended the forms on your free hand if you were working solo. Still, he was absolutely determined that he would learn this one way or another.

With finals for Bucky’s classes wrapping up, he hadn’t had much time with Steve since they’d agreed on trying to make something work. He’d gone over for dinner once more, and they’d ended up back on Steve’s couch, curled against each other while they talked about this or that. At some point, Steve had mentioned that he preferred to communicate by the deafblind manual alphabet when possible and by voice when it wasn’t. Using the text when it wasn’t was convenient, but not his favorite. “I grew up using a mix of spoken English and having it spelled out to me as a kid,” he said with a bit of wistful look. “I could hear better back then, but background noise still messed with me. I was probably five when I started using the manual alphabet. I don’t know. It just kind of felt like a puzzle piece falling into place. Using touch and what hearing I have always make it feel more personal—like I’m more connected.” After that, Bucky had silently vowed to learn the deafblind manual alphabet if it killed him. He wanted to be able to not only communicate with Steve under any circumstances, but do it in a way that made Steve feel more comfortable.

After giving the video a final try, Bucky decided to get a few things done before the usual lunch hour crowd came in. He wiped down the free weight machines and the mirrors without thinking too much of anything until he felt a wave of awareness prickle down his spine. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Natasha giving him one of her patented bland expressions as she did her cool down on one of the treadmills. He’d seen her twice more since that awkward ride from Sam’s—once in the gym and once at Steve’s when she was dropping him off after an appointment of some kind. While it wasn’t exactly out and known that he was starting something with Steve, he got the distinct impression that the red head not only knew about them, but disapproved. Nodding in her direction, he finished up his work and put away the cleaning supplies. He was shocked to see her waiting at the front desk when he returned. Her expression hadn’t actually changed but her stance was a bit more relaxed.

“You know you can ask for help,” she said without any kind of preamble.

“Last I checked, I’m on the payroll and you’re not,” Bucky quipped in annoyance. “Pretty sure I can manage cleaning up with one hand.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not that, asshole. I meant that you could ask for help to learn the deafblind alphabet.”

“I’m not the best student.” His mouth went dry with embarrassment. He looked away. “I don’t want to frustrate either of us just yet, so if you could keep it to yourself...”

“You’re trying. That’s something,” Natasha said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Look, Steve is my friend and he is my client. His business is _his_ business. I don’t tell secrets or get involved in relationships, but I do have a vested interest in making sure he’s happy. If he knew you were even trying, it would mean the world to him.”

“I just don’t want him to get his hopes up that I’ll get good at this fast and then let him down,” Bucky admitted.

Natasha’s eyes seemed to soften a bit. “I could work with you.”

At first, Bucky just blinked. He hadn’t been expecting the offer at all, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure he was one hundred percent comfortable with the woman. But she was offering… “That’ be great,” he said after a long moment.

“Free tonight?”

Bucky shook his head. “My nephew’s birthday is tonight. I promised to come out to dinner.”

Natasha nodded. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said a bit hesitantly. “That works.”

The pair made plans before she disappeared into the locker room. For the rest of the day, Bucky tried not to worry too much about how it would go working with the woman.

By early afternoon, Bucky was on his way out the door. He’d already packed a change of shirt and his seldom used prosthetic in his bag that morning so all he had to do was swap his clothes and struggle into the rig before sliding into his car. He felt awkward as hell with the heavy-ass fake arm hanging from his side and had to re-arrange a few times before feeling comfortable behind the wheel. He didn’t wear the prosthetic often. It was more trouble than it was really worth and didn’t offer him much in the way of actual function, but the plastic hand at the end of the arm looked fairly realistic from a distance. Normally, he didn’t bother with it when he went out in public. If someone stared at him, that was their problem. But tonight, he was going to Becky’s house where there would be about a dozen five year-olds running around. He didn’t want to risk that one of them would be spooked by his missing arm so he’d thrown on the fake one and a light, long sleeved shirt to cover it.

His sister lived on the opposite side of D.C. and even in that rare moment between the lunch hour traffic and full on rush hour, getting to her place was always a bitch. He could make the cop-out lie and say that the reason he didn’t go over so often was the drive, but the real reason was more complicated than that. Bucky and Becky had practically been like bookends growing up. Despite the year age difference, they were always more like twins. His sister was actually the best friend he’d ever had. They’d shared their biggest adventures of childhood and their teen years. Becky had been the one to call him on his bullshit when he needed it or been the sympathetic ear to his worst problems growing up. Even in the army, Becky had been the first person he called when he had time to Skype from over seas. They hadn’t lost that closeness until Bucky got hurt.

Bucky could still remember the first time he saw her in Bethesda. He’d been in a drug induced hazey, half sleep when she snuck in. It wasn’t until she reached out and touched his hand that he’d noticed her. She could have been there for hours for all he knew. When she touched him though, he’d turned his gaze to her. The tears streaming down her face wasn’t what shocked him. In the steel-blue eyes that matched his own, there was pity. Even in the depths of his confusion, he’d been able to see that emotion for what it was. In the months to come, Becky was his biggest cheerleader, and he didn’t take a single thing that she had done for him for granted, but ever since that moment he’d never been able to fully tell himself that his little sister didn’t see him as an object of pity. He still loved Becky more than anything, though, and felt like shit for never being able to put it behind him completely.

He made it to Becky’s house in record time. As he pulled in, he spotted his brother-in-law, John tying balloons to the mailbox of their cookie-cutter, suburban home. John wasn’t at all what Bucky had pictured for his athletic, out going sister. The guy was a little on the doughier built side with thinning blonde hair and unremarkable brown eyes. He wasn’t the life of the party or even usually much of a participant in most parties, unlike Becky who attracted people to her from all angles. But John was a good person, and the best husband his sister could ask for. He waved to Bucky after making sure that Spider-man was firmly tied to the pole.

Bucky grinned at the inconvenient placement of the blow tab between the superheroes legs, but managed to keep his mouth shut. “Glad to see J.J’s still into that,” he said instead, holding up a gift bag with the same hero.

“Spider-man has taken over most of our lives these days,” John replied with a chuckle. “We’ve got a Spidey cake, favors, and décor to go along with the these. J.J wouldn’t hear of anything else. Can’t complain though, I was into Superman when I was five. You?”

“Transformers,” Bucky confessed. “Need help with anything?”

John’s shrugged. “Go pour your sister another glass of wine. She is just convinced that we are going to mess up J.J’s first party with his school friends and that the kid will be ostracized for it.”

“That’s Beck for you.”

Bucky headed inside to see that Spider-man had all but blown his load over his sister’s usually trendy living room. Blue and red balloons and banners hung all over the open space and into the kitchen with paper cut outs shaped like Spider-man hanging from a web every so often. Even the plastic table cloth covering the table with web themed. Bucky was so distracted by all of the decorations that he almost didn’t notice Becky zooming around the table like a bee.

“Hey,” she said when she finally noticed him. She set aside the massive tray of pizza balls she was arranging and rushed up to hug him. Her eyes fell on the prosthetic the second she let him go. “You hate that thing. Why are you wearing it?”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh and shrugged. “Thought I’d give the Stepford wives and their kiddos one less thing to stare at,” he teased, using his sister’s favorite term for her neighbors.

She frowned but didn’t try to convince him to take it off. “J.J’s been telling all of his friends that his war hero uncle was coming to the party. I think you are nearly as cool to him as Spider-man.”

The warmth that spread in his gut was instantaneous. J.J really thought that Bucky had been over there fighting the war on his own and kicking ass. He’d been just three when Bucky got hurt and never once looked at him like he was less than anyone else. The kid still acted like his Uncle Buck could take on the world, one arm or no. It made Bucky grateful for the simple acceptance of children. He let out a short laugh. “Be real, Beck. No one is as cool as Spider-man.”

Becky rolled her eyes and slapped him playfully. “Try not to be a complete ass and ruin the illusion.”

After depositing his contribution to the pile of gifts building on a side table, Bucky looked around the room. “Where are the kids?”

“Sue next door took them so I could get everything ready,” Becky answered, back to making sure the snacks were set up just-so. “They should be here soon, and the guests in just a bit. Want a beer while you wait?”

“Think I’ll go for a soda instead,” Bucky replied, heading for the bucket filled with cans of Coke. He could tell that his sister was fighting the knee-jerk reaction to offer to open it for him even as he clumsily used his left to hold the can while he popped the lid. It wasn’t a graceful motion, but he managed well enough.

J.J and little Grace appeared at the door with a slender Asian woman a few minutes later. J.J instantly bolted across the room and launched himself at his uncle, wrapping his arms around him. “You came!” he cried out.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Bucky teased, pulling the kid up on his hip. J.J was getting to big to be picked up, especially one handed, but Bucky didn’t give a shit. He’d actually missed the little guy. “And you said you wanted underwear for your birthday, right?”  
J.J giggled and shook his head. “Nope!”

There was a pull at Bucky’s shirt tail, and he looked down to see Grace looking up at him, still sucking on her binky. The two year old didn’t know that her uncle didn’t have an arm to spare and was holding her chubby arms up expecting him to grab her. Bucky set J.J down on his feet and swept up the little girl kissing her on her full cheeks. She laughed at him without releasing her pacifier.

“Come look at my cake with me, Uncle Buck!” J.J prompted.

As they inspected the confection, kids and parents began flooding through the door. Bucky tried to keep up with J.J’s near constant stream of chatter and not feel suddenly uneasy about the number of people in the small-ish space. Hell, he even managed to smile and make small talk with the other adults after J.J and Grace abandoned him to play with the other kids. Feeling somewhat confident, he started to eat some of the finger food and joke around with a few of the fathers. He almost was doing good. If he felt like constantly crawling out of skin, he was sure he didn’t look or sound like it. Every now and again, Becky would pop by with a plate of something or other, not so subtlety checking on him, and when she did, she didn’t look disappointed.

It wasn’t until the end of the evening when they started singing that his night went to shit. Halfway through the song, that one of the munchkins thought it would be fun to pop a balloon. The sound echoed off the walls and into Bucky’s brain.

“FUCK!”

The word had escaped him before he realized what he’d done and the half-finished can of soda in his hand dropped to the floor. Every eye in the room was on him, and for a moment, no one moved or said anything. A few of the kids looked a little frightened while most of the adults looked at him with a mixture of horror and pity. Bucky backed away from the table slowly trying to form the words to say that he was going to get a towel, but couldn’t make his mouth work.

A hand was suddenly on his shoulder. “Buck, mind helping me grab some more ice from the garage?” John asked, shaking Bucky from his trance.

Bucky nodded shakily and followed his brother-in-law out where he leaned on the hood of Becky’s SUV, breathing raggedly.

Without being asked, John nudged a cold bottle of water against Bucky’s hand and stood beside him until the shaking stopped. His expression was mostly neutral rather than pissed, for which Bucky was infinitely grateful. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Again, all Bucky could manage was a nod. From inside, the birthday song had started over and he could hear clapping. He felt like such a shit bag right then. Instead of being there for his kid’s birthday, John was standing in the garage babysitting his wife’s brother. “Go...back,” Bucky said sullenly.

“Nah,” John refused with a wry grin. “Company’s better out here than it is with half of those fakes.”

Bucky gave him a small smile and fumbled with the bottle cap. Once again, John came to the rescue, opening it and handing it back. Taking small sips of water, Bucky waited for the shaking to pass.

“I’m sure J.J will remember this birthday,” Bucky snorted.

John shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll remember that you came, and he’s glad you did.”

“Why does everyone want to give me credit for the bare minimum shit?” Bucky asked in annoyance.

“Because a lot of people don’t even do that. When shit gets hard they just run and hide.” John reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer for himself. “Did I ever tell you that I thought about joining the Marines when I graduated?”

Bucky shook his head. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for story time, but he wasn’t going to interrupt.

“My grandfather served in Korea, and then Dad lucked out enough that when he was in uniform, the most stressful place he was sent was Italy for a few weeks. I wanted to continue the tradition, but when it came time to it… I just couldn’t sign up knowing I’d be more than likely shipped into a war zone. I didn’t have the balls for it,” John said with a grim chuckle.

“That isn’t not having balls,” Bucky cut in. “That’s having brains.”

John laughed again. “Either way, I could do what you did to begin with, let alone come back the way you have. That is worth something more than the bare minimum, Bucky. And for what it’s worth; I think J.J picked a good hero to look up to.”

Before Bucky could think of a reply, Becky poked her head through the door. “We’re ready to bring out the you-know-what, if you guys are good to come back,” she said, casting her brother a long look.

“We’re good,” Bucky lied, downing the rest of his water.

Both John and Becky gave him a look, but neither contradicted him.

Thankfully, no one said anything about his breakdown or speedy departure when he got back. The kids had obviously moved on in the excitement of J.J opening his gifts, and the parents pretended nothing had happened. Bucky was glad that he came back in time to see John and Becky wheel in the shiny new two wheeler complete with Spider-man decals. J.J had an absolute look of awe when he saw the bike. He raced in circles around it, pointing in amazement at all of the cool stuff on it.

Bucky stayed long enough to help Becky and John clear up the trash and stack the dishes in the dishwasher. He was immensely grateful that neither of them brought up what had happened and decided not too push that luck too far. After kissing the kids and hugging his sister, Bucky got in his car and headed home.

The light out in front of Bucky’s townhouse was set to a timer and was glowing invitingly when he got home. He breathed a huge sigh of relief as he kicked off his shoes in the front hall. He tossed his shirt on the banister as he went by and went about sliding off the prosthetic—which felt nearly orgasmic as he freed his stump. Rubbing the aching nub, he looked around the room and let the comfort sink into his bones. Everything in sight brought a sense of familiarity to him, even the boxes still lingering in the hall. This was home in a way that nowhere else had been since he left Brooklyn for basic.

Fishing his phone from his back pocket and settling onto the couch, he pecked out a text to Steve. **Just got home. Are you still up?**

**It’s only nine. I’m not that much older than you. Smart ass.**

Bucky grinned. **Sorry, old man. Just thought you usually drank your Ensure and went to bed by like eight.**

 **I’m going to hold off until at least ten just to prove you wrong. Want to come over?** Steve asked.

 **Yes. But no. That requires me putting a shirt on.** It wasn’t a lie. Bucky could think of nothing better than cuddling with Steve for a while after his shitty day, but he wasn’t about to stalk through the neighborhood wearing no shirt. He wasn’t even sure he wanted Steve around when he was topless yet, to be honest.

**The shirt can most definitely stay off. No need to put on clothes for my benefit. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a blind man’s peep show. Smile.**

The flirty reply sent a zing of awareness through Bucky’s whole body. God, did he want Steve’s hands on him! He’d found out recently just how tactile Steve really was. In their time on the couch, Steve’s fingers always found their way around Bucky’s own and his free hand always skimmed lightly across Bucky’s shoulders and arm. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was trying to contain himself to “safe” places. The thought of Steve’s fingers moving on bare skin, though, did things to Bucky’s insides both good and bad. In the end, the bad won out.

 **Can I take a rain check?** He texted back. **Maybe tomorrow night? I have a thing earlier but after seven I’m good.**

**Seven it is! Clothing is optional. Wink.**

Bucky laughed heartily and tossed aside his phone.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve smiled as he trimmed a little thyme from the small potted plant he kept on the back porch. The lemon-y, floral scent of it reminded him of when his mom used to make a roasted chicken every so often on a Sunday. Beside the thyme plant were several other herbs in terracotta planters. Rosemary, sage, oregano, chives, parsley, and basil were lined up neatly on a little shelving unit located in just the perfect amount of sunlight. He supposed most people preferred to grow flowers, but aside from not being able to appreciate the colorful blooms, he was highly allergic to the bees that they attracted. Also, it was a bonus that he could use the herbs in the kitchen through most of the year. Gardening wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do, but it made him happy to know that he was using something that he himself had grown. Every now and again, he toyed with the idea of planting vegetables in the tiny back yard he never used. He supposed the only reason he hadn’t was that he wasn’t keen on the idea of weeding a real garden. His little pots of herbs would do for now. Snipping a bit of sage, he tried to remember if the chicken stew called for any other herbs. Bucky was coming for dinner, and Steve always felt a bit more nervous about cooking for Bucky than anyone else.

Just knowing Bucky was going to come over made his chest feel strangely light. He hadn’t gotten to see or talk to Bucky nearly enough in the last couple weeks, not that he didn’t understand why. It was Bucky’s first round of finals at school, and he’d been burying himself neck deep in his books. But now, with summer classes over with, Steve hoped that they would be spending a lot more time together. There was something about Bucky that made Steve feel like a sixteen year old with a crush. Everything about Bucky was exhilarating to Steve. The feel of his skin when they curled up on the couch with their fingers locked, the sound of his voice and the accompanying breath against Steve’s neck, the intermingled scent of aftershave and strawberry shampoo when they embraced; everything about the man made him crazy. But there was definitely more between them than just lust. There was also a mutual respect that ran deep between them. Bucky not only let Steve tell him what his specific needs were due to his deafblindness, but simply assumed that Steve knew what he wanted and had things figured out without mass amounts of input.

Bucky let Steve take the lead—something that almost no one in his life ever had done before. It was refreshing, but it also made Steve feel an intense pressure to be the person that Bucky thought he was. Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t told Bucky about his hearing loss and impending surgery. He hadn’t felt like admitting that there were things about his life that not only sucked but scared the shit out of him. The illusion of being the one in control of his life was kind of addictive. So often, Steve had felt like a prisoner in his own life. He was largely disconnected from people he couldn’t see or hear well enough to communicate with. Unless someone directly approached him, he had no idea they were there half the time, and that wasn’t even including all of the subtle background information that he missed without a sighted/hearing person cluing him in. But Bucky acted like Steve was more than a passive party to all of it. And while he wholeheartedly loved and adored them for it, the rest of his circle of friends were fully aware of Steve’s limitations and actively sought to tell him what he was missing. It wasn’t that he resented his friends for helping, but rather that he resented his own need for the help. He knew that someday soon Bucky would realize just how disabled Steve really was out in the world, but they hadn’t made that leap yet. Steve found himself almost wishing they could stay sheltered in the little bubble of his home for all of their dates, that he could pretend his hearing wasn’t fading and his life wasn’t changing again.

And, of course with Steve’s luck, that bubble burst not twenty minutes after he walked back inside. He no sooner chopped his herbs and was adding them to the crockpot when he realized the damn thing was stone cold. At some point, when he’d stirred the stew, he must have bumped the cord and unplugged it. The chicken inside was nearly as raw as when he’d put it in that morning. Groaning with disgust, he tossed the whole thing down his garbage disposal. Either they would have to take their first foray into a public date, or Bucky would have to call for delivery. Neither option was appealing. Delivery was only marginally preferable because they would still be able to stay in, but even then, Bucky would have to be the one to call and deal with the driver.

Steve was still grumbling to himself about it when Bucky texted to let him know he was waiting on Steve’s porch. Pasting on a smile, he went to his door and was instantly greeted with a warm hug. Without a word, Bucky nudged his hand underneath Steve’s, and the letters _H_ and _I_ were formed using the deafblind alphabet. A knot so tight that he couldn’t even begin to speak lodged in Steve’s throat. Cupping Bucky’s jaw in his hand, he said everything he needed to with a deep, long kiss, pulling the other man tightly against him once more.

“Hi yourself,” he finally managed to say.

Bucky laughed against Steve’s ear. “Don’t get too excited. I still suck at it. I’ve been watching videos for a few days on my own, and Natasha worked with me a little tonight.”

“No one gets good at a new form of communication instantaneously, Buck,” Steve said, still feeling blissfully giddy. “I just… Thank you for even trying.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The amazement in Bucky’s voice was clear. Once again, he was just assuming that everyone would go that extra mile for Steve—that it was worth it to go the extra mile for him. It made Steve’s chest feel both strangely tight and airy at the same time.

“Only my closest friends ever have. Scott, my ex, well… He didn’t learn until we’d been seeing each other for close to a year,” he explained, feeling heat creep into his cheeks.

Bucky snorted—something Steve felt more than heard. “He sounds like an ass.”

“I didn’t ask until then,” Steve clarified. “Besides, we only were able to get together one weekend every month or two. Most of our communication was via email and text.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Bucky kissed the little spot beneath Steve’s jawbone lightly. “He still should have done it, if he was serious about you.”

Once again, the air left Steve’s lungs. “Are you?”

“If you have to ask, then I’m doing a shit job of showing it,” Bucky teased. His breath on Steve’s skin was tantalizing. That combined with the rushing emotions coursing through Steve’s veins was playing hell with his equilibrium.

“I am deafblind, you know. Sometimes I miss things that are pretty obvious,” Steve quipped.

“I say let’s get off your porch and maybe I can make things a bit more obvious then.”

Before Steve could answer or express the fact that he’d pretty much forgotten they were in plain sight, he found himself being led backwards into the hallway of his home. The door slammed so loudly that Steve assumed it must have been kicked closed. Bucky forced him against the wall and kissed him so hard that Steve’s lips hurt in the most amazingly wonderful way possible. When they finally broke apart, Bucky leaned his forehead against Steve’s.

“I’ve kinda missed you, if you couldn’t tell.”

Steve chuckled and ran his fingertips along Bucky’s stubbled cheek. “I barely noticed you were gone.”

“Punk!”

Between their frenzied kisses in the doorway and Bucky’s surprise with the manual alphabet, Steve had almost completely forgotten about dinner. It wasn’t until they’d migrated to their usual spot on the couch that Steve remembered it. He was still a little embarrassed, but the sting of the whole thing had been dulled by happiness. Sheepishly explaining the debacle, he laid out their dinner options.

“I suddenly feel slightly less stupid about the towel thing now,” Bucky teased. “I’m exhausted after being out in public all day. You wouldn’t mind calling for a pizza?”

“So long as you don’t mind doing the actual calling, I don’t mind one bit.” Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Once the pizza arrived, they opted to sit on the couch to eat rather than the kitchen table. Steve was loath to give up the physical contact the couch allowed, and Bucky joked that pizza tasted best straight from the box in the living room. With Bucky’s only hand occupied, Steve had to make due with pressing his thigh up against Bucky’s, but he didn’t mind. They scarfed down most of a large pie together without much effort before taking care of the leftovers and curling back together.

The couch reclined on the ends, and Steve took advantage of the positioning to coax Bucky’s head onto his chest. Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulder for good measure, but the instant his hand made contact with Bucky’s stump, he froze and pulled away a bit. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. In fact, Steve hadn’t failed to notice that when the hugged, Bucky mad sure that as little of his left side touched against Steve as possible.

Frowning, Steve re-situated. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t… Actually, I’m gonna call bullshit on myself, it does,” Bucky confessed. “Other than at the hospital, I haven’t let anyone touch it. It’s pretty disgusting.”

“Not to me,” Steve said softly. “There’s nothing about you that’s ‘disgusting’ to me.”

“Well, you admitted it yourself; you are blind.” The attempt at levity fell flat between them.

“Even if I wasn’t, I’d never see any part of you that way as disgusting.”

The first time he said it, Steve didn’t understand and had to ask Buck to repeat it. When he did, though, Steve’s heart broke a little for him. “How can you be sure?” Bucky asked.

Reaching out his hand tentatively, he rested his hand on Bucky’s chest. “One way to find out, isn’t there?”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long time, and Steve was about to say that they could talk about it another time when Bucky took his hand and moved it deliberately on top of what remained of his arm. The first thing that struck Steve was how little there was left behind, just the shoulder joint and a couple of inches worth of his arm. All of it didn’t even fill half of the short sleeved shirt separating their skin. Through the fabric, Steve’s fingers were also privy to just how badly burned Bucky had been. A few times, he’d kissed along the collar of Bucky’s shirt and noticed that the skin there was textured differently. It wasn’t nearly as soft and almost felt rubbery in places. Steve had assumed the same would be true for Bucky’s arm with maybe a ridge or two left from a surgical scar, but it seemed that was far from the truth. Beneath the thin cotton layer, he could feel knotting and puckering covering most of what he touched. He must not have done a good job of keeping his expression neutral because all of a sudden, Bucky’s posture tightened.

“I told you it was disgusting,” he said. He might not have physically pulled away from Steve, but he was already a mile away emotionally.

Steve shook his head and leaned in purposely. He started kissing gently from where the skin on Bucky’s neck changed texture down the top of his shoulder and the whole way to the end of the appendage. Bucky’s body shivered beneath Steve’s lips. On the way back, he moved farther up, working his way up Bucky’s neck and over his jaw until Steve’s lips landed on his own.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Steve admitted, “but it’s not disgusting. You are by no means disgusting. Those scars are a part of you, but they _aren’t you_. You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, and maybe you don’t believe me that I’d be saying the same thing if I could see, but it’s the most true thing I think I’ve ever said to you.”

“Jesus, Steve, you really do want to talk me out of my shirt and give you a show,” Bucky murmured thickly.

Steve laughed, pulling Bucky back onto his chest in the same position they’d started in. “Of course!”

Bucky nudged his hand back under Steve’s. _Soon._

“When you’re ready,” Steve corrected.

“Speaking of ‘ready,’” Bucky began, switching gears, “what do you say to a date that doesn’t involve your couch or you having to cook for my lazy ass?”

Steve was tempted to pretend that he didn’t hear enough of that question to make it out, but if Bucky was willing to face his fears, he couldn’t do anything less. “Did you have something in mind?”

“My sister works in the Smithsonian art department, and she mentioned something about bringing in some new pieces for an inclusion project.” It took two goes before Steve caught all or even enough of it to understand what Bucky was hinting at.

“For the blind?” Steve hedged, far more interested than he had been before.

Over the years, he’d gone to the Smithsonian’s bi-monthly program for the blind a few times and enjoyed it immensely. It was a pretty big misconception that blind people couldn’t appreciate art. Steve had always loved getting an opportunity to touch a sculpture or relief, but he also liked it when people described paintings and other non-tactile imagery to him. True, he didn’t understand visual references, but the trained guides on the tours were very good at describing the feelings, smells, and sounds that the image invoked. The fact that Bucky would have thought of a date like that intrigued Steve.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “My sister mentioned that they are bringing in some tactile versions of famous paintings. Some are 3D printed and others use some kind of paint that reacts to different lights for each color to feel different.”

Genuine excitement bubbled up in Steve’s gut. “And you wouldn’t mind going?”

“I asked you, didn’t I?” Bucky teased. “I guess each work has an audio track to go along with it, so you may want to see if Natasha can come…just for the museum that is. I had wanted to take you to dinner, too.”

Steve was so consumed with just how amazing the man beside him was that the only thing he could think of to do was kiss him once more.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky knew he was in trouble the second he sat down at the little cafe across from his sister. While both of them had inherited their looks from their father—both with the same high cheeks, dark hair and pale gray eyes—his sister was most definitely wearing what he called the “mom” face. Her jaw was set firmly and there was a look in her eyes that said that he was about to hear something he most definitely didn’t want to. If she hadn’t been playing her cards so close to her chest when she’d called asking him to lunch, he would have never agreed to coming in the first place. But, as it was, he’d already ordered his drink and driven half way across town to meet her.

“You’re getting skinny again,” Becky chided the second the waitress was out of ear shot. “Are you eating?”

He managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes...just barely. “Yes, I’m eating. I’m actually eating like a damn horse. I’ve just been working out a lot, too. I know I don’t look like much yet, but I’m starting to put on muscle again instead of just flab. But you didn’t drag me out to lecture me on nutrition?”

“No,” she confirmed with a heavy sigh. “It’s about Mom...”

“What about her? I just talked to her a few days ago,” he said, searching his brain for any signs that something was wrong.

Becky narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s been two weeks since you called her.”

“How would you… Oh, she told you.” Bucky thought back to exactly what was going on when he’d called her, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized it actually _had_ been two weeks. “I’ll call her today. I promise, Beck.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and took their order, giving Bucky a chance to breathe a sigh of relief. If calling Mom more was all that Becky was going to harp on him for, he was damn happy. He’d actually been glad to come to lunch with her in the first place. Not only had he been meaning to spend a more time with her, he’d also wanted to wade into the waters of talking about Steve with her. He was about to open his mouth to tell her when she shot him another meaningful look.

“Mom’s moving to D.C.,” she said, plainly.

At first, Bucky’s mind drew a blank. Mom wasn’t moving to D.C.. Mom had lived in Brooklyn for almost sixty years. She wouldn’t leave her beloved brownstone—the house that Dad had bought and fixed up when he first got out of the Army. No, Mom wouldn’t move.

“Bullshit,” Bucky muttered after a minute.

Becky shrugged. “The house has been on the market for a week.”

A sharp pain sliced through Bucky’s chest. “Why would she do a dumb thing like that?”

“You’re here. I’m here. The grandkids are here,” she told him, like it was stupid to assume their mother wouldn’t move. “She’s been thinking about it for a while. I’m actually going to be showing her some places next week.”

“So why didn’t she tell me any of this herself? Obviously, this has been on her mind for a while.” The hurt inside was slowly turning to anger.

Leaning across the table, Becky covered his clenched fist with her hands. “Because she didn’t want to upset you. In fact, she would have been here a long time ago, but she was worried you’d take it the wrong way. You’re not always the easiest person to talk to these days, Buck, and it’s not that we don’t know why you are how you are. Mom just didn’t want to start a fight.”

“Who’s helping her with everything in New York?” he asked, letting out a long breath.

“She hired a company to help with most of it. A lot of stuff is already in storage. Before things finalize, you and I should probably go up to go through some of the stuff in the attic,” she told him with a slight look of sadness in her own eyes.

Despite the fact that neither of them had spent a whole lot of time in their parents’ house since Becky went to college and Bucky went to basic, the place was still home. Their heights were still marked on the door frames. There was still a hunk out of the plaster in the upstairs hall where Bucky had accidentally ran his toy car into it just above the base board. The tiny army men his Dad had painted by hand around his room as a border were still on his bedroom walls, and likewise, in the mirror image bedroom across the hall, there were butterflies for Becky. When Bucky thought of home, his mind still went to the kitchen where his Mom made lasagna and living room with a million family photos hanging on the wall. The thought that they were going to have to say a final goodbye to the place stung. As if sensing his thoughts, Becky went on.

“Mom has been thinking about this for a long time now. She wanted to move down here straight away when you were recovering, but you didn’t seem all that receptive to having her here for it,” Becky added. “This isn’t an out of the blue thing. She’s lonely up there, and it’s been a hell of a lot worse since she retired last year. Bucky, she needs this. She needs it bad.”

Bucky’s whole body sagged. “I didn’t want her to give up the life that she had built in the house that Dad bought her just to look after me. I didn’t deserve it—still don’t. But I wasn’t thinking about her being up there alone after retirement or that she might want to be down here with you guys, too. Sorry for being a selfish asshole...again.”

Becky’s eyes softened. “You’re not being selfish. And I know when she brought it up the first time, she brought it up in a way that framed it like she was coming down here just to take care of you—something you didn’t feel you needed right then. It’s just...things have shifted, Buck. You need to be a little easier on Mom.”

Thankfully, their meals came to derail the conversation a bit. It seemed they were under and an unspoken agreement not to talk about the Mom situation for at least the duration of their meals. Becky launched into a full accounting of how many different Lego sets J.J. got for his birthday and how at least two of them were hopelessly mixed together. Bucky shared the tale of the suburban divorcee who was trying to hit on him despite being twice his age. It was at that point that Becky started giving him a look over here salad.

“I’m sure you meet all kinds of interesting men in the gym,” she said slyly, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Back when they were still in high school, Becky had been the first one to know that Bucky was gay. He’d been a junior when he’d confessed to her after a particularly horrible homecoming night gone awry. That year, he’d taken a girl from Becky’s volleyball team. After the dance, they’d taken a drive. The girl had made a few awkward passes at him, but his body couldn’t seem to get excited about her mostly bared tits or about her in general. He’d driven her back to her house and dropped her off without so much as a good night kiss. Becky had, of course, heard that he had been an asshole to her teammate and demanded answers. Red faced and scared shitless, he’d ended up telling her the truth only because it hurt too much to keep what he was really feeling a secret any longer. In the end, she’d been his staunchest ally. She’d sat by his side a few months later when he’d told mom. She’d also been his unrivaled relationship cheerleader.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky shrugged. Though he’d planned on talking to Becky about Steve today and asking for passes to the new exhibit, it was a hell of a lot harder to bring up the topic than he’d anticipated. He shoved his mouth completely full of burger and took his time chewing. “Actually, I met someone before I even started at the gym. We decided to test the waters a few weeks ago.”

“Oh? Anything interesting you want to share?” Becky was trying and failing to look uninterested. Her bad acting made Bucky laugh, and even she smirked. “Okay, jerk! I’m dying for you to tell me everything about him short of what you do in the bedroom! Happy?”

“His name’s Steve, and he actually is my next door neighbor,” he began. “He’s a guidance counselor at a school for the deaf. He’s… He’s really amazing. Everything I could ask for: smart, funny, handsome, caring—I could go on all day. He just he gets me, and he makes me feel like even the most fucked up parts of me are still worth something.”

“So when do I get to meet this perfect man?”

Bucky hesitated. “Soon...maybe. We’re taking this thing really slow.”

“Okay,” Becky said despite her obvious disappointment. “I know I’m dying to meet him already. Don’t even get me started on how anxious Mom will be once she hears...”

“Beck, don’t tell her,” Bucky warned, stonily. “I’d like to tell her about him myself.”

She put her hands up in surrender. “Fine! I promise I won’t spill the beans. You just have to tell her sooner rather than later.”

“Agreed. And now that we have that portion of the conversation over with, I need a favor… Remember you were telling me about that exhibit for the blind? I was hoping you could get me a trio of passes,” he hedged lightly.

“Why would you need passes to an exhibit for the… oh… Is he…?”

This was the part of the conversation he’d been dreading all along. “Yeah, he is. Deafblind, actually.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “You mean like Helen Keller? Deaf _and_ blind?”

Bucky wanted to roll his eyes at the comparison. Steve had mentioned that it was almost always the first thing people brought up when he tried explaining it to them, and while he understood the correlation, it was an annoying one. “Not exactly like that,” he replied tightly. “Steve can actually hear well enough to understand speech out of his left ear if you speak a little louder and keep your voice clear. He can even see a little, too, but just enough to see when there is a difference in lighting and the occasional moving shadow. Honestly, it’s not what you’re thinking. He’s very independent, and he doesn’t let it define him.”

His sister’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she actually said anything. “Wow. I mean, I’m sure you understand what you’re in for here, but isn’t that a lot to take on in a relationship? I mean, especially with all of your...”

“All my what?” Bucky demanded.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Becky said with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean anything. You just can’t expect me as your sister to not worry about you from time to time. You’ve been through so much and worked so hard. Isn’t this going to be hard too?”

“Yeah, and I’m a picnic to be with, too.” He couldn’t stop the bitterness from leaking into his words, and Becky looked like he’d physically hit her. “It’s hard to envision what Steve is like without actually meeting him. And yeah, I’ll admit that I had a lot of stupid assumptions about what he could or couldn’t do when I first met him, too. The only thing I can tell you is to wait until you meet him, please.”

Becky drew a long breath. “Three passes? I can do that. I’ll email them over to you tomorrow.”

Later in the day, Bucky decided to bite the bullet and call his mother. He couldn’t say for sure if he was relieved or not when he got her voicemail. To be honest, he still was having trouble wrapping his head around the idea that his childhood home was going to be housing strangers in the near future. Feeling restless, Bucky grabbed his gym bag and headed out the door.

He’d actually worked out during normal business hours twice so far. It wasn’t a huge thing on the surface, but he’d been so nervous about it that the first time he’d almost lost the nerve to go inside at all. He’d stood on the sidewalk around the corner for nearly five minutes before it just so happened that Thor, one of the trainers, had spotted him. Oblivious to Bucky’s plight, Thor had clapped him on the shoulder and started chatting amiably as they walked through the door. Once he was in, well… Bucky had no excuse not to work out then. The second trip had been much easier, and he barely felt his blood pressure spiking as he walked in this last time.

Thor was one at the welcome desk that day. Each of the trainers had one shift at the desk each week to give Bucky and the other receptionist days off. Out of all of them, Thor seemed to be the one who minded it the least. He was a natural chatterbox and charmed just about everyone who passed by him. He gave Bucky a toothy, white grin when he spotted him. “Speak of the devil, and he does appear,” he said with a chuckle. “A gift was just left for you.”

Puzzled, Bucky leaned over the counter to see a plastic bag with his name on a post-it. He opened the bag to find a single, right-handed lifting glove and a not that said, “You buy the next pair.” Over the last few weeks, Bucky had learned that the other one-handed vet in the gym was named Julio. The guy had a seemingly endless supply of t-shirts with smart ass remarks on them and never missed a chance to ask Bucky when they were going to go glove shopping. Bucky chuckled and slid the glove on, using his teeth to secure it. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly. The odds of the pair of them having the same size had seemed pretty slim. Julio was a good six inches shorter than Bucky and broader through the chest. Clenching his fist in the leather, Bucky scanned the room for the other man.

“He left a bit ago,” Thor supplied. “I have a session with him Monday, if you want me to pass along a message.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m here most of the day Monday. Thanks though.”

His workout was going fairly well, but after a while, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Internally, he shriveled up under the weight of the feeling. He’d gotten so used to no one staring in the gym that when it happened, it felt ten times worse. Glancing around from the corners of his eyes, he spotted Thor standing just behind his shoulder, frowning.

“Does your lower back bother you after you lift?” he asked, crossing arms the size of tree trunks over his massive chest.

“A bit, but it’s pretty normal,” Bucky admitted.

Thor frowned deeper and then began shifting Bucky’s posture around a bit. “It will feel strange for a while, but it will give you more stability. You’re making your back do work that your arm and shoulder should be doing.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, testing the form.

“What time does your shift start Monday?”

“Eleven. Why?”  
Thor was once again grinning. “Excellent! We’ll meet at ten.”

Without another word or even waiting for Bucky to accept what he was assuming was a training appointment, the blond walked away.

That evening, he had plans to eat dinner at Steve’s house—which he was starting to do more often than he did in his own kitchen. His statement to Becky that he’d been eating like a horse hadn’t been a lie. He’d always had a healthy appetite, but he found himself tucking into seconds and sometimes thirds at Steve’s table every time he was there. That night was no different. Steve had made them a summer vegetable soup filled with tender hunks of beef and loaded with zucchini, sweet corn, and peppers. As he dished out a second bowl of soup, Bucky shot Steve a look across the table.

Earlier that day Becky had called Steve the “perfect” man. She’d been teasing, of course. Everyone seemed perfect when you were in that first rush of a new relationship, and it was pretty much common sense that no one actually was perfect, not even Steve. What struck Bucky more often than not, though, these days was that Steve may just be perfect for him. Being with Steve felt as natural as breathing, and Bucky couldn’t deny that there was a little voice in the back of his head whispering that things were too easy. It was like seeing one black cloud in an otherwise clear sky; the rain could simply pass on by without falling or there could be one hell of a storm. Bucky wished he could banish those kinds of thoughts and just bask in the feelings, but he couldn’t silence that one little voice.

After dinner, Bucky asked if he could help Steve clean up. A split second of hesitation crossed Steve’s features before he nodded. “I guess I should give you the full run down on what goes where and a little introduction to ‘how not to kill your blind boyfriend.’”

They spent most of the evening in the kitchen with Bucky trailing behind Steve as he explained how he kept things organized. While Bucky had already known—both from a basic Google search and a few casual comments from Steve—that Steve’s life revolved around perfect organization, seeing it in action was another thing. Meals were usually completed and the table set before Bucky even made it to the door, so he’d never really given much thought to it before. Steve’s cupboards were perfectly neat, lined with even rows of dishes, pots, and pans. All of his pantry staples were labeled in braille with the labels facing out. The fridge was arranged just so. Even loading the dishwasher was done in a specific way so that Steve could easily unload it.

“And knives are never left out. Ever. Not even in the sink. They get washed immediately and put back in their spot in the butcher block,” Steve said flatly. He held up his hand and ran a finger down a silvery scar about an inch long that Bucky had never noticed before on the heel of his hand. “Clint left one in the sink once when he first moved in.”

Bucky captured Steve’s and in his and began kissing along the line releasing it only to sign. _Won’t forget._

Steve’s features immediately softened in a way that made Bucky’s knees feel weak. He always looked so damned touched whenever Bucky attempted using the deafblind alphabet. It didn’t matter that nine times out of ten Bucky messed it up either by using the wrong letter sign or by misspelling a word. Steve looked the mere act of Bucky trying was enough that his heart might burst. It made Bucky wonder just what kind of assholes Steve was used to being around. Learning to communicate with someone you care about shouldn’t be something out of the ordinary. The fact that, to Steve, it seemed that way never ceased to light a fire of anger deep in Bucky’s gut.

In his back pocket, Bucky’s phone began ringing. He easily recognized the tone he’d set for his mother. Rolling his eyes at the timing, he leaned in closer to Steve. “Mom’s calling let me tell her I’ll call back.”

“Talk to her now. I’ll finish up the dishes, and you know I won’t be listening in,” Steve said pulling back to the sink.

Bucky answered and took a place at the end of Steve’s couch.

“Hi Mom,” he greeted.

“He does exist!” his mother teased in typical Barnes family humor.

Bucky couldn’t help his lips from quirking up. “Becky already read the riot act to me this morning on your behalf. Can we consider me duly chastised?”

“Oh, sweetie, I know you’ve been busy.” She paused for a second. “And I know that Becky probably already broke the news to you.”

“Yeah. She did, and I understand. I’m glad you’re going to be living closer.”

“Really?” His mother sounded so unsure that he was mentally kicking his own ass for being such a bastard.

“Yeah, Mom. It’ll be good for all of us,” he assured her.

They didn’t talk long. She gave Bucky a quick run down of the next week she had planned in D.C. and the plans for selling the house. None of it was really a surprise. The only awkward moment came towards the end of the call.

“So,” she drawled with a long breath, “have you given any thought to what you want to do about the car.”

Bucky’s insides churned at the thought of the vintage Mustang sitting beneath a tarp in his Mom’s garage. His father had gotten it in such bad shape that Bucky’s mom had joked that they should have paid him to take it, but the teasing hadn’t bothered Dad. He’d proudly announced that he and Bucky were going to restore the thing together. That had been in the fall. Winter that same year, Dad had gone out to shovel snow and not come back inside. He’d suffered a major heart attack from an undetected heart defect and been dead with in moments of leaving the house. Over the next few years, the car simply took up space in the garage. It wasn’t until Bucky was sixteen that he’d started working on it. By the time he’d gone to basic the thing was almost drivable, and he’d tinkered with it lovingly every trip home before his injury. Since then, he’d buried any thoughts of the car so deep in his mind that he almost convinced himself it didn’t exist.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” his mom asked nervously.

Only then did it hit him that he hadn’t said a word for nearly a minute. “Yeah, Mom. Just thinking. Can I get back to you on that?”

The image of the tarp covered car still lingered in his brain long after he’d hung up the phone, and Steve joined him on the couch. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the car out of his mind.

 


	12. Chapter 12

_You look fine,_ Clint told him for probably the dozenth time since he’d arrived at his house. He’d stopped by to pick up things that he still had stashed in Steve’s garage and gotten roped into helping Steve pick out a shirt.

On any given day, Steve didn’t give much thought to his appearance. His clothes were clean and wrinkle free, and he at least made an effort to keep his hair from sticking up in odd ways. Beyond that though… It wasn’t something that he felt the need to obsess over. He’d been told numerous times that he was handsome, but he didn’t have any more of a grasp on what sighted people liked about his looks than he did the color blue. Visual terms didn’t exactly mean much to him, so he didn’t stress too much about it. That day, though, Steve was very stressed. This was the first time he and Bucky had gone beyond his back patio for a date. There were a million and one things in his head that were bound to go wrong, and somehow looking like an idiot was the one that kept coming to mind first.

 _Are you sure I don’t look too casual?_ He asked, tugging at the collar of his polo shirt.

 _I am rolling my eyes at you right now. You are acting like this guy hasn’t seen you everyday for the last month. I am pretty sure he has already made up his mind if he’s attracted to you,_ Clint signed dryly.

 _Technically, this is still our first date,_ Steve countered. _I just don’t want to embarrass myself._

 _You look good. The shirt is too tight, but I think he’ll appreciate that._ _Want me to take a picture and send it to Nat for a second opinion?_ Clint asked, his arm shaking a bit from obvious laughter.

Steve huffed indignantly. _No._

 _You’re pretty serious about this one,_ Clint noted after his laughter had stopped.

_I am._

_‘_ Serious’ was one way of putting it. In truth, Steve felt more for Bucky than he had for anyone in his whole life. If he were completely honest with himself, he was already head over heels in love. He’d known it in his gut since the moment Bucky started signing “hi” into his hand. The thing was that even though Steve knew how he felt and wasn’t ashamed of it, he knew three little words would undoubtedly send Bucky running for cover. Despite all of the affection they’d shared over the past month and a half, Bucky still pulled away when things got to intense—emotionally or physically. Steve wished he knew how to make Bucky trust him fully, but at the same time, he knew this was going to be a marathon, not a sprint. It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t been open and honest about that from the beginning. Still, it didn’t mean that Steve didn’t want more—even if he he wouldn’t say it.

Clint made his excuses to leave not long before Bucky was supposed to come over to get Steve. The fact that Clint didn’t push for more information before he left was a miracle of God. Between Clint and Sam, Steve didn’t get to keep too many things to himself these days—especially not when it came to his love life. Usually, Clint was the worst about it, but for some reason, he had been a bit standoffish about Bucky. Then again, Clint wasn’t always the friendliest person to hearing people in general. He could be a bit distant until he got to know someone. Hell, it had taken Phil months to thaw Clint’s demeanor enough for them to date. He’d never actually warmed up to Scott. It didn’t really surprise Steve that Clint was less than enthused about Bucky, but it irritated him just the same.

Bucky texted Steve a couple of minutes before they had agreed to leave. Steve ran his fingers through his hair one more time, checking that nothing was sticking up before he headed to the door. As soon as they said their hellos on the front porch, Steve could smell the spicy tang of a new and probably expensive cologne coming from Bucky. The scent warmed Steve through as he realized that just maybe Bucky had been just as nervous for this date as he was. He let out a little moan of appreciation as he dropped his nose into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Keep smelling like that and I might not agree go anywhere besides up to my bedroom,” Steve teased.

“I had a momentary freak out thinking I put too much on,” Bucky admitted with a deep laugh.

“Nope,” Steve assured him, kissing the spot just below Bucky’s jaw. “Not too much at all.”

“As much as the thought of going upstairs with you drives me crazy, we really shouldn’t bail on Natasha,” Bucky reminded him lightly.

The plan was that Bucky would drive them to the museum, and Natasha would meet them there. It had been hard to decide whether to schedule Natasha for the afternoon or not. The reliefs and 3D paintings all had audio accompaniment to go with them, and chances were, that the output wouldn’t be loud enough for Steve to hear. Steve had considered just skipping it, but Bucky had actually been the one to talk him into asking Natasha to come along. Bucky was getting better every day with the deafblind alphabet, but he was a long way away from being able to interpret much beyond simple responses. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to try something that could ultimately stress them both out, nor would it be as enjoyable for Steve to simply go without. Thus—unromantic as it seemed—Steve was bringing his intervenor to the first part of their date.

There wasn’t any real conversation on the way to the museum. Bucky’s only hand was—rightfully so—on the steering wheel, and Steve couldn’t hear well enough for them to talk sitting in the car. It served as a reminder that sooner or later Steve was going to have to fess up to his hearing loss and the impending surgery for his cochlear. Instead of dwelling on the thought, Steve reached his hand down to the speaker in the car door. The music was far too low for him to hear, but he could feel the faint vibrations from it.

“Go ahead and turn the music up,” he told Bucky. “I know silent car rides aren’t much fun, and I enjoy music anyway.”

His reply was either lost to Steve or he didn’t make one, but Bucky did turn the music up. Steve didn’t doubt that to a person with normal hearing, it was quite loud. He couldn’t make out much about the music playing except that it was rock of some sort. The base beneath his fingers was a steady, driving thrum, and he could make out the louder guitar riffs with his good ear. Steve hadn’t been lying when he’d said he enjoyed music. It had been a long time since he could actually pick out the lyrics of discern singing, but music was more than just an auditory experience. The melody and movement could sweep through his whole body under the right circumstances. He and Clint had agreed that soundproofing the basement and setting up an expensive stereo had been the right move when they’d first moved in. Steve had spent many nights in his basement with the subwoofer pushed up against his couch and the speakers pulled close.

When the car pulled to a firm stop and the music was turned off, Bucky reached over and took Steve’s hand. _Here. Had to park a few blocks away,_ he signed.

“I don’t mind a walk,” Steve replied with a grin.

The pair had practiced Bucky leading Steve a few days earlier. Leading a blind person wasn’t particularly tricky, leading a deafblind one only slightly more complicated, but leading a deafblind person when you only had one arm was a bit of a pain. It was near impossible for Bucky to use his arm to sign to Steve when he was holding onto it. It also made reaching for things like doors or railings harder on Bucky. Still, they’d worked it out eventually. Rather than holding Bucky’s elbow like Steve usually preferred, Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It was still awkward in the event that Bucky needed to spell something out for Steve, but it at least gave him a bit of free movement, and the arrangement put Steve’s good ear closer to Bucky.

Thankfully the walk to the museum went off without a hitch. Steve had told Bucky that the white cane he held had the magical sea parting powers of Moses in a crowd, and he assumed that held true that day as well. The weather outside was hot and humid enough that Steve was glad not to be pressed up against anyone aside from Bucky at the crosswalks. He also knew that Bucky wasn’t exactly overly fond of crowds either.

When they arrived, Bucky leaned into Steve. “Natasha’s waiting by the entrance.”

“She’s always early,” Steve said with a grin. It was one of the traits that had endeared Nat to him almost instantly.

A firm slender hand tapped the back of Steve’s hand, letting him know she was there. _You boys look too nice for an afternoon visit to the museum,_ she teased, instead of a hello.

Steve gritted his teeth. _You talked to Clint?_

 _He says you tried on about a dozen shirts,_ she confirmed. _“Shall we?”_

Once they were through the entrance and found the inclusion exhibit, Natasha stepped aside and let Bucky lead Steve once more. While he was more used to Natasha’s style of guidance, it was nicer to be close to Bucky again. The first piece that Bucky brought him to was a sculpture. Bucky helped Steve find the tag beside the work. As it turned out, the artist was a blind Vietnam veteran named Michael Naranjo—someone that Steve had heard of, but never had the pleasure to “view” his work. After reading the tag,Steve took his time examining the piece with his hands. It was the figure of a woman carrying a basket on her head, he soon discovered with a smile. Only then did it occur to him that he may be taking too long and boring Bucky.

“Sorry. I’ll try to hurry up,”Steve murmured in embarrassment, trying to keep his voice low in deference to the location.

_Please don’t. Want you to enjoy this._

The reply almost made Steve giddy. He did just as he was asked when they moved to the next piece and all the ones after. It was well over an hour before they moved on from the sculptures to the tactile paintings. Those came with audio description, and Natasha took her place at his side, spelling out each description into one hand as he explored the narrated sections with his other. Not for the first time, he felt a pang of regret that Bucky wasn’t ready to try something like that, but his regret was mostly washed away by the sheer joy of experiencing each painting. He had been so mesmerized when he finished touching the last piece that he was wildly disappointed that there weren’t anymore.

He made it a point to wait until Natasha said her goodbyes on the front steps of the museum before saying too much for Bucky. Natasha was privy to almost every part of Steve’s life—social, financial, health related—but he wanted to keep somethings sacred. To him, Bucky and what they had was sacred. He didn’t want to share that if he didn’t have to. It was the first time he’d ever felt that kind of possessiveness in a relationship.

“Thank you for bringing me here. That was… amazing. I only hope you weren’t too bored, and I did mean it when I said we could go through the other exhibits.” Steve realized he was rambling.

 _Bench nearby. Want to sit?_ Bucky asked.

Steve nodded. The solidness of Bucky’s body pressed close to his was a bit too warm in the sunlight, but Steve would bite out his own tongue before he’d say so.

“I’m just glad you liked it. And watching you enjoy yourself was even better than anything they’ve got in there,” Bucky said finally. “You’re so beautiful when you smile.”

Steve’s cheeks burned in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said dismissively before changing the subject. “How long until our reservations?”

“About an hour.”

“Still not going to tell me anything about the place?” Steve probed.

Bucky had been pretty tight lipped about where he was taking Steve for dinner. Usually Steve liked to download a PDF of the menu of any restaurant he went to first. It was easier to read the menu via his braille display than it was to simply hope that the place in question had a braille menu or having someone else read it to him. Even after explaining this to Bucky, his boyfriend hadn’t budged on telling him anything about the restaurant. He’d simply asked Steve to trust him—which for a control freak like Steve was easier said than done—and he’d reluctantly given in.

“You’ll probably be more comfortable in the environment than I will,” Bucky hinted. “That’s as much as you get for now. And speaking of, we should probably get going. Don’t want to be late.”

The restaurant turned out to be a lot closer to the museum than Steve was expecting. Even with the rush hour traffic, it only took them about thirty minutes to get there. The suspense was killing Steve. Directions around D.C. proper weren’t his strong suit, and Steve had absolutely no way of knowing what to expect. Bucky led Steve from the parking lot to the sidewalk before stopping to clue Steve in.

“So if this is completely cheesy and stupid, you’ll have to forgive me, but I got the idea off social media a couple days after getting the tickets. This is a pop-up restaurant, and there is no actual menu—just a tasting menu set up by some quasi-famous chef, or so they tell me,” Bucky explained.

“Okay,” Steve said, feeling a wash of excitement building in his gut. He did love higher end restaurants and so-called foodie events, but what could possibly be cheesy about it was beyond Steve. “It sounds like there is a catch.”

“Kind of… God, this is going to be embarrassing to explain and you’ll probably think I’m a moron. I swear, the idea was romantic until about twenty minutes ago...”

“Buck, for the love of God, just tell me what’s going on here. I promise that you have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Steve said, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder lightly. “And for the record, I don’t mind a little cheesy.”

“All right then,” Bucky drawled. “You said a while back that you get nervous eating out sometimes on dates, and then I saw this event listed on Facebook. This place is hosting a charity event tonight for fighting blindness and educating blind children in developing countries. The whole restaurant is blacked out past the lobby for the evening so the whole meal is served in the dark with blind waitstaff and everything.”

“Bucky...” he managed to say through a tight throat. Steve’s heart felt like it was melting.

“I know it’s stupid, and not even remotely the same, but I thought it would be interesting to put us on equal grounds. Please tell me, you aren’t upset,” Bucky begged.

Sliding his hand up Bucky’s neck to his jaw, Steve couldn’t help leaning in for a kiss. He pressed his forehead against Bucky’s. “This is so cheesy and so romantic… and so you. I love it!”

Bucky’s whole body sagged with relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.”

Once his jitters wore off, Bucky went on to explain that when he’d called for reservations, he’d initially made some inquiries to find out if there was an area with the least amount of background noise for Steve. The coordinator of the event had gone one step further and offered to let them come in a couple of hours before the actual event was to take place. She’d jokingly called them a dry run.

The coordinator, a woman named Betsy met them in the lobby. She shook both their hands, and didn’t seem phased in the least when Steve asked her to use to the cellphone-braille display set up to speak to him.

 **Hello, gentlemen, we are so happy to have you here. We do have some rules to go over before we go back to the dining area. I did have those printed up in braille for you as well as tonight’s course menu, Mr. Rogers,** she told them both.

Steve could vaguely hear her voice as he read over the copy of rules he’d been given. It wasn’t anything too crazy; no cellphones or other lit devices, no nudity or lewd acts (that one made him chuckle), and no one was allowed to leave their seats without being led by one of the waitstaff/guides. It was all pretty straight forward. Once they had both agreed to that, they were asked if either of them had any food allergies before being led back by a waiter named Christian.

Inside, Steve could instantly tell that Bucky hadn’t been lying about the place being blacked out. What little sight he had was rendered useless—not that it mattered all that much to him—and beside him Bucky went a little stiff. Once they were safely seated side by side in a booth and Christian took their drink order, Steve elbowed Bucky lightly.

“Not afraid of the dark, are you, Sargent Barnes?” he asked impishly. Bucky took what felt like a shuddering breath, and Steve instantly felt like an asshole and sobered. “Seriously, Buck, is this bothering you?”

“It’s not too bad,” Bucky answered after a long pause. “I guess it just hit me how vulnerable I am like this. I’m not a fan of feeling exposed these days.”

“I know they were very kind in setting this up for us, but we can go, if you want,” Steve offered.

“No. I’m good. And honestly, the more you talk to me the less nervous I feel. If it gets worse again, I promise I’ll tell you,” Bucky swore.

The rest of the evening ended up being more fun than either of them had probably counted on. Steve and Christian both gave Bucky pointers on eating blind while the lone (usually) sighted man cursed and complained about having an easier time finding insurgents in the desert than the food on his plate. He admitted to Steve that he’d actually agreed when Betsy had offered to have his food cut in the back. Eating things that required cutting one-handed was hard enough, he made a joke that he wasn’t about to wear his food to preserve his pride. All in all, Bucky was being a good sport about the whole thing and seemed at ease laughing at his own follies. The idea that Bucky had willingly given up his sight for the evening for Steve made his insides go weak every time he thought about it.

And the food that night! Steve could practically write a book on how wonderful every bite was. It wasn’t the first time he’d done a chef’s tasting menu before, but it was by far the most luxurious and decadent meal he’d had in what seemed like forever. The first course was beef carpaccio with parmesan and arugala. Any trepidation Steve had about eating mostly raw beef fled his mind as the rich, velvety texture of the meat hit his tongue and the savory flavor of the parmesan cut through. He could have easily died a happy man right then, but there was more to follow. Course after course just kept getting better until the last was served. It was an upscale play on a banana split for them to share. Two bruleed slices of banana sat on top of a dense pound cake with three huge scoops of mystery ice cream melting down over it all beneath hot, salted caramel sauce. Christian urged them to try to guess the ice cream flavors on their own, and Bucky and Steve ended up mock arguing about it for the rest of the meal.

“The first is definitely green tea,” Steve announced proudly, taking a spoonful and carefully holding it to Bucky’s lips.

“Is not. I hate green tea. This is too good to be green tea,” Bucky countered. “The second is some kind of tropical fruit.”

“Guava,” Steve supplied.

“If you say so… I still say it’s mango. But what about the third? I have no clue.” Bucky laughed and tried to offer Steve a bite in the same way. His aim wasn’t as good as Steve’s was, and Steve ended up licking a good bit of it off the corner of his mouth.

Steve took a bite of the third flavor and hummed. This one was really hard. The taste wasn’t a common one. Even for someone who was used to sorting things out with his senses of taste and smell, it was almost impossible. Whatever it was, it was earthy beneath the sugar and cream, and there were little bits of it left intact furthering the mystery. “It’s kind of like a nut, but not...”

“Maybe chocolate and something else?”  
Taking the last bite without offering it to Bucky, Steve thought harder. Then it hit him that he had tasted this kind of ice cream before. “Red bean!”

“Bean ice cream?” Bucky demanded incredulously. “Yuck! You mean such a thing exists? I hate beans and that is just nasty!”

“You liked it before you thought it was made out of beans,” Steve pointed out, devilishly.

“Yeah, but… just gross.”

Christian returned just as they finished up the last of the banana split. It turned out, Steve was three for three with the ice cream flavors—something not even the staff had been able to do when they’d done tastings of their own. Steve couldn’t help feeling smug about that. Part of him wished he had bet Bucky.

The date ended too soon for Steve’s taste. As they pulled into his driveway, he contemplated a hundred things he wanted to say to Bucky to make him stay. Steve’s body was already vibrating with need, and they hadn’t so much as kissed since leaving the restaurant. He was caught between acting on his own lust and respecting Bucky’s wishes to go slow. In that fight, Steve’s libido lost one hundred times out of one hundred. But god did he wish he knew what it would take for things to be “right” enough between them for something to happen. He kept his mouth shut until Bucky led him to the front door.

“Do you want to come in for a glass of wine or a cup of coffee?” he asked. It was a vain hope, but it was all Steve had at the moment. His gut told him that Bucky was going to demure, but just when Steve was about to say “forget it,” something wonderful happened.

Bucky kissed him so deeply it took Steve’s breath away and left his heart racing. “Okay,” he agreed when the kiss was over.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky felt like his sexuality had been sleeping for forever. The first year and a half after getting hurt, he hadn’t even had it in him to jerk off. His few erections had been half-assed at best, like his body couldn’t be bothered to even make morning wood properly. In the hospital, the doctors had tried to talk with him about the side effects that depression and depression meds could have on the male libido, but he’d just brushed them off. And after he was out… well, it didn’t matter one way or another whether his body was going to react or not. He was pretty damn certain that no one would want him anyway. He’d built up such high defenses around himself that he pretty much had all of the sex drive of a house plant. And then he’d met Steve… It was like that part of him that had been frozen had slowly started to thaw and warm until his gut felt like it was on fire. He’d been jerking off regularly for the first time in nearly two years, and it felt fucking amazing. Still, standing on Steve’s porch, staring at those wide, blue eyes as Steve shyly asked him to stay for a drink… a bit of panic raged through Bucky’s brain. His instincts were telling him both run as far as possible and to stay as close as he could. Finally, he got his mouth to form an answer.

“Okay,” he said, still leaning in against Steve.

Steve’s lips curled upwards and that signature sunshine smile of his was almost too much to bear. “Okay,” Steve repeated. After shedding his shoes and hanging his cane in their usual place, Steve moved towards the kitchen. “What can I get you?”

“A glass of wine,” Bucky replied, hoping the alcohol would help his nerves. He would have asked for something stronger, but he had a hunch Steve didn’t exactly keep a stocked liquor cabinet.

Pouring them each a healthy glass of white wine, Steve led the way to the back porch swing without a word. Bucky downed a good bit of the drink in one go as he sat, grimacing slightly as the dryness caught him in the back of the throat. The wine was probably an expensive-ish bottle, but at the moment, he didn’t give a shit about the taste beyond its ability to loosen him up.

“Nothing has to happen if you’re not ready for it, Buck,” Steve said softly. It never ceased to amaze Bucky how Steve could read his mind without even seeing his expressions.

Bucky took a long, deep breath. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life,” he admitted.

“But...” Steve prompted.

“It’s been a long time. And I don’t know...” Bucky’s voice trailed off, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to say.

“If this happens, it happens because you want it and are comfortable with what we do. If it doesn’t happen… It doesn’t happen. I’m not going anywhere no matter what.”

Steve leaned in and traced his fingers across Bucky’s jaw before giving him a long slow kiss. The wine on Steve’s lips tasted sweeter than honey, and Bucky felt almost drunk from that alone. The feeling that spread through Bucky’s whole body was more than just lust, though. True, he’d felt it coming on for a while now, but in that moment, he was absolutely certain that he loved Steve Rogers. The emotion was both exhilarating and terrifying. He let himself be wrapped underneath Steve’s arm, not really wanting to say anything.

After a long silence, Steve chuckled. “You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you?”

“No,” Bucky said, gathering his courage, “but I’m ready for bed if you are.”

“All right then,” Steve said softly. There was a flicker of nervousness that crossed his features just long enough for Bucky to feel slightly better about his own.

He followed Steve up the stairs and down the hall. There was just enough light pouring in from the moon that he didn’t feel the need to ask Steve to turn on the lights. Thankfully, Steve did flip the switch as he led Bucky into a palatial-sized master bedroom. For a moment, Bucky distracted himself by looking around the room. It was nearly as spartan looking as his own, just much bigger. There was a king sized bed along the wall flanked by two night stands—only one of which held a lamp—and a massive dresser with a mirror atop of it across from the bed. Bucky dropped his gaze from the mirror the second he caught his reflection next to Steve’s and instead noted the dark blues and pale grays that gave the room its only decorative flair. He idly wondered who’d helped Steve pick them out.

Steve reached out his hand slowly, like he was approaching a skittish animal, and Bucky gave into the urge to wrap his arm around Steve’s waist instead. He leaned his head into the crook of Steve’s neck and began kissing a line from his shoulder to the sensitive spot beneath his ear. Steve’s hands dug into Bucky’s shoulders lightly as he let out a deep moan.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured shakily. He disentangled himself just enough to pull off his shirt.

The sight of Steve’s bare chest was just as magnificent as Bucky had pictured it would be. Steve was all smooth, sleek muscle and lightly tanned skin. Only the tiniest bit of golden brown hair grew between his magnificent pecs and a bit more dusted from his navel into his pants. Bucky’s whole body tensed with desire. He reached into that little bit of hair on Steve’s chest and ran his fingers through it lightly. Steve shivered lightly and bit his lip, but he made no move to stop Bucky as his mouth moved to kiss the same spot.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky muttered, unsure if he’d spoken loud enough for Steve, but not really willing to repeat it.

Steve smiled and began winding his hand through Bucky’s hair. “I hope what you just said was that ‘turnabout is fair play,’” he teased.

Freezing momentarily Bucky’s heart began pounding, this was the moment he’d been dreading since they’d gotten together. Even though Steve couldn’t see how ravaged Bucky truly was, he knew that the blind man could still feel the damage. The image of Steve’s unblemished body against his destroyed one nearly made him sick. But this was still Steve. The man who had kissed his stump and allayed his fears more than anyone else had. Bucky knew this was the point of no return. He either needed to trust Steve or leave. Slowly, he began fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. His hand was trembling so much that he was sure he’d never manage the task, but he eventually got the damn thing off.

“Well you did, request a peep show,” he joked nervously.

Steve’s smile could best be described as wolfish as he trailed his hands from Bucky’s hair down the curve of his neck and onto his shoulders. The feeling of Steve’s hand was slightly muted as it worked down the heaviest scars on his left side, but both of his hands felt like they were made of fire as they moved over him. Steve’s hands didn’t stop until they slid over Bucky’s newly hardened abs and down to the waistband of his khakis.

“God, I’ve been dying to touch you,” Steve said huskily. His words were a little less articulate than they usually were, but the tenor of lust in his voice almost undid Bucky. Nodding to the bed behind them, Steve urged Bucky to lie down.

Once Bucky was on his back, Steve dropped his head to Bucky’s skin and began to kiss, lick, and suckle along all of the places he’d just touched with his hands. He didn’t shy away from any of the scars. In fact, he acted like the scars were just as worthy of his worship as the smooth places. It was the first time that Bucky actually wished the burns hadn’t destroyed most of the nerve endings along his rib cage. He didn’t want to miss a single kiss or lick, but he was happy just knowing that Steve wasn’t turned off by any of his imperfections. Reaching out, Bucky pulled Steve up from his ribs and kissed him deeply.

Steve urged him on and straddled Bucky’s hips as they kissed. “Think you’re up for a bit more nudity?” he asked roughly.

Beyond forming words, Bucky nodded against Steve’s shoulder. He reached down to undo his belt, but Steve’s hands forced his away.

“I like unwrapping presents. Please, Buck, let me do it.”

Bucky let his arm fall limply behind his head and watched Steve position himself lower so that his nose was nearly buried in his fly. He very carefully unzipped and unbuttoned Bucky’s pants, pushing them down and tossing them aside. Bucky’s cock was rock hard and standing proudly. He couldn’t remember anything so erotic as Steve nuzzling up and down the side of it as he fondled Bucky’s balls. Hips twitching upwards, he couldn’t hold himself still as Steve licked the delicate underside from root to tip. “Can I taste you?”

“YES!” Bucky was pretty sure that he screamed the word loud enough that the whole neighborhood heard him, but he couldn’t be bothered to give a single fuck.

Steve’s expert lips and tongue worked over Bucky, taking him deep into his throat. Bucky’s whole world spun as his pleasure mounted like a freight train. His fingers moved of their own accord to Steve’s hair as the blond brought him almost to the edge and backed off.

“Can’t hold it,” Bucky cried.

Steve didn’t seem to hear him or care as he continued to work at his artistry. A split second later, Bucky was trying to pull away from Steve as he came, but Steve was relentless. He swallowed every bit of come as it spilled from Bucky’s cock like he was sucking the last bit of a damn milk shake. Bucky’s whole body trembled as the aftershocks of his orgasm rolled through his body. He couldn’t bring himself to form words or to move a single muscle. His brains and limbs had turned to jello. Still licking at his lips with satisfaction, Steve kissed his way back up Bucky’s body until he was lying on his side next to him.

Bucky finally found the strength to roll over on his side and kiss Steve squarely on the lips. He’d never been one for post-oral kisses, but damn the taste of himself of Steve’s tongue was hotter than hell. “Jesus, I can’t believe you really exist,” he said into Steve’s good ear. “I thought you said you didn’t have a lot of experience?”

Laughing out loud, Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s nose. “I may not have been out sleeping with every guy who crossed my path, but I have a very dirty mind. Especially when it comes to you.”

“What can I do for you?” Bucky offered, sure that he could never make Steve come as hard as he just had. “What other dirty thoughts to do you have?”

“This isn’t about me, Buck. I just wanted to make you feel good,” Steve replied. He sounded so damn sincere that it nearly stopped Bucky’s heart.

“This is about us,” Bucky correctly firmly. “What if I said I wanted you to fuck me?”

Steve went very still. “Do you really want me to?”

“Yes. More than anything,” Bucky answered. It surprised him just how true that statement was. He had thought about it constantly since they’d gotten together, but he’d always assumed he’d be too chicken shit to put it into words or actions. “Fuck me, Steve Rogers.”

Standing up, Steve began undoing his pants while Bucky watched in anticipation. Once again, Steve did not disappoint. His cock was huge and perfectly shaped. It looked so inviting that all Bucky could think of was running his hand over it. Before he could reach out, Steve seemed to freeze up all at once. His cheeks reddened slightly as he raised his hands to his hearing aides.

“I’ve gotten these lost in the sheets or under the bed before. It’s usually just easier if I take them out. Would you… I mean, it would be pretty much impossible for me to hear you if...” Steve mumbled.

It took Bucky a second to realize what Steve actually meant, but then it sunk in. “I trust you, Steve. I know you know how to read my body even when you can’t hear me. I really want this.”

Steve nodded and took off his over the ear aide first, then the larger bone-anchored one. He still looked a bit nervous as he sat down on the bed and pulled a condom and lube from the night stand drawer. Where before he had been confident and almost demanding, he had become suddenly shy. Taking matters into his own hand, Bucky nudged his hand under Steve’s free one.

 _Thinking about this since you helped with my hair tie,_ he spelled out carefully. _Want you in me._

“So have I,” Steve admitted, a bit of his boldness returning. He kissed Bucky once more and began slickening his fingers.

Arching his back, Bucky angled his hips to give Steve better access. It had been a long time since Bucky bottomed, but he hadn’t lied when he said he’d thought about it. He’d even entered himself a time or two in the shower with Steve’s face in his mind’s eye. The first finger that Steve slid in ached a little inside Bucky’s tight entrance, but it soon found its way to that perfect little blissful spot, and Bucky found himself pushing back against Steve’s hand for more. A second finger slipped inside, and by now, Bucky’s body was practically begging for it. He cried out each time Steve’s hand moved inside of him, wanting more than just fingers. It took a few more minutes of torturous pleasure before Steve seemed convinced that Bucky’s body was ready for him. Once he was satisfied, he slid on the condom and began lubing himself up. Bucky couldn’t resist reaching down and giving Steve a tentative stroke. Steve moaned and leaned in, pressing himself against Bucky’s waiting hole.

The moment Steve was in, Bucky thought his whole body might break into a thousand pieces. Steve moved with slow, careful rhythm sending them both into orbit. Steve murmured Bucky’s name over and over again as he slid in and out, each time sending waves of bliss through him. Bucky raised his hips in a desperate attempt to get Steve to pick up his pace. There would be time for long, slow love making another time. Right now, he just wanted Steve to fuck him senseless. Seeming to get the message, Steve’s hips began pumping more furiously. His cries of pleasure became louder, mingling with Bucky’s own. Within mere moments, Steve was coming inside of him, and Bucky was following in his wake.

Steve collapsed on his side, breathing hard. Bucky couldn’t resist closing the gap between them and laying his head on Steve’s sweat covered shoulder. He didn’t even give the fact that he was also pressing his stump up against his lover much thought as he did it. Everything was just too fucking right in that moment for him to care. Neither of them spoke as they cuddled and tried to regain their breath.

At some point, Bucky must have drifted off. He woke suddenly when Steve began to shift in his sleep. Both of them still smelled like sweat and sex. Bucky’s thighs and stomach were sticking to the sheets from the dried cum on them. But none of that was what bothered him. Contemplating how exactly he was going to to extract himself Steve’s grip without waking the slumbering man was a problem. He must have moved just enough to wake Steve because he gave out a little groan in his throat.

“You okay, Buck?” he asked, groggily. His words were slurred a bit by sleep, but still clear.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied out loud before mentally kicking himself. He slid his hand under Steve’s and repeated the affirmation. _Should go home._

Steve let out a bear like yawn and trapped Bucky in his arms. “Stay. It’s nice with you here.”

 _Can’t risk it,_ Bucky told him regretfully. _Want to. Can’t._

Bucky had explained before about how his night terrors could come on randomly and how he wasn’t comfortable sleeping in a strange place. At the time, it had been just one more hypothetical warning, but here in Steve’s bed, it was more than that. The thought that Bucky could lash out in his sleep or half-sleep and hurt Steve weighed heavy on his mind. He knew he shouldn’t have let himself drift off, but it was too late. Now, he needed to leave. He just hoped he didn’t have to explain it all over again to Steve. Telling him about it once had been bad enough. Finally, Steve shifted his weight enough that Bucky could slide out of the bed easily.

“Maybe someday,” Steve said wistfully.

Bucky turned on the bedside lamp and quickly found his clothes. He noticed that Steve’s were tossed all around, too, and almost grabbed those on instinct as well. Instead, he got dressed and asked permission to help first. It was a small thing, but Steve never failed to respect Bucky’s autonomy so how could he do any different.

After Steve’s clothes had been dropped in the hamper, Bucky sat back down on the bed close enough that their thighs touched. He noticed that Steve’s hearing aid was back on and leaned in. “Tonight was perfect. Sorry I have to go.”

“Don’t apologize.” Steve bumped his forehead against Bucky’s and traced his fingers over Bucky’s jaw. “I can’t ask for any more than what you gave me tonight. I just… Thank you for trusting me, and for letting me love you.”

The fact that the “L” word had been slipped into that statement sent a thrill through Bucky, but he wasn’t about to focus too much on it. They had made physical love. Steve was probably just referring to the act. It didn’t mean that Steve loved him, loved him.

“Mom flies in tomorrow. I won’t be around much, but I’ll text you?”

Steve nodded. “I’ll be thinking about you all day.”

Bucky kissed him passionately. “Me too.”


End file.
